


Desperately Seeking Spike

by TheReluctantRomantic



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-06-03 22:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantRomantic/pseuds/TheReluctantRomantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if you remembered your past lives? What if you were meant to be with your true love but he was a vampire? What would you do?<br/>A love spanning the ages, Spike loved her once. But, can she get through to him again? Is he really the one? Her imminent death leaves her with the hardest decision she'll ever have to make... Death and the chance of a do-over, or live forever when Spike might not want her that long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Love Lost

The party, the close proximity of these obnoxious, pretentious people, with their pompous attitudes and ignorant, opinionated points of view, has suddenly become claustrophobic. And, he has gone.

Closing the front door to the residence I step towards the street and into the cool London night air, shrugging my coat a little closer around my shoulders to ward off the cold. The muted sounds of the party recede as I make my way down the front steps to the footpath in front of the town house. A light fog meanders lazily through the streets of London. Faint voices and laughter travel with muffled footsteps, carried by the moisture-laden air from nearby streets. Its wispy tendrils curl languidly around the street lamp at the end of the street creating an eerie glowing halo of light.

Moving towards the hazy pool of light at the base of the lamppost I listen in vain for any indication of which way he could have gone. The hurtful, callous remarks of his so-called friends still ring in my ears. “…You know they call him William the Bloody, because of his bloody awful poetry.”

The woman he confessed his love to was the cruelest of them all. “…I could never love you. You are beneath me.”

I could see his heart breaking as mine broke for him. But, he only had eyes for Cecily. He had walked right by where I stood at the party without a second glance. I shake my head gently. How does he not know me; recognize me?

Closing my eyes I hold my breath, listening to the night. As the breeze shifts momentarily I hear hurried footfalls moving away from the street; away from me. A chill runs through me making me pull my coat closer around my shoulders as the cold night air tries to creep under its warm folds. Turning towards the sounds I hurry after them, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. To hurry any more would cause a scene and a well-meaning passer-by offering assistance to a seemingly distressed woman on her own would only hinder my progress. I can ignore the sneering glares of those taking offense at my unseemly haste. Actually, I take pleasure in their offense. A sarcastic smile creeps onto my face at the thought, raising one corner of my lips. My smile is quickly erased as I round the corner of the street to see a trail of torn paper littering the cobblestones. A trail that will lead me straight to William.

I catch a glimpse of a young man, hunched forward in his haste, rounding the next corner. He bumps into the dark-haired, broodingly handsome young man walking with an ebony-haired woman and a slender, pretty blonde woman traveling in the opposite direction. William says something to the man as he hurries on. I can’t hear what he says but I hear the anguished sob that accompanies it. My heart breaks anew at the sound.

I stop briefly to pick up one of the scraps of paper. It’s the poetry William had written for Cecily; the bitch who had rejected him so callously. She doesn’t deserve him. How could she see his loyalty, his goodness and his love so ready to be given, through her high society, aristocratic ideals? William is nothing to her. He doesn’t fit her perceived values. I know his goodness, his ability to love. I’ve experienced it. Even if he doesn’t remember now, he will. He has to…. He will, as soon as I talk to him.

William disappears around the corner and a cold dread suddenly weighs heavy in the pit of my stomach. The dark-haired woman pauses momentarily, and while her two companion continue on, moving up the street towards me, she turns to follow William. As my heart races I compel my legs to work, hurrying after William and the woman. The couple stroll on, speaking quietly to one another, paying me no heed as I hurry past them.

By the time I reach the corner the street before me is empty. Where have they gone? Panic starts to take hold turning my limbs to lead. Why was that woman following William?…And, where are they!!??

After a few more steps I remember the alley that leads to the stables towards the end of the street.

“William”, I whisper, as I run towards the entrance to the alleyway. The alley is empty. Do I continue to the stables? Or has William rushed on to who-knows-where? If I stay too long in the wrong place I may lose him. I take a couple of steps further into the alley moving towards the stables. A woman’s sing-song voice with a cockney accent floats from within.

Creeping as stealthily as my petty-coated skirts will allow I move closer to hear what she’s saying. “ …Something…effulgent. Do you want it?“

What in all hell? How could she have known he’d used that word in his poetry? I hadn’t seen her stop to pick up any of the strewn pieces of paper. Disturbing thoughts surfaced. Was she telepathic? Or clairvoyant? William's sudden cries of pain break my reverie. What is she doing to him? I rush towards the door, not sure what I can do… if… I can do anything. I only know I have to try. He’s my William! He hasn’t even had a chance to know me, know us, and what we have.

As I rush forward I feel like I’m suddenly weightless, flying. My feet no longer touch the ground. Before I can comprehend what is happening I’m pulled back against a solid cold mass while a large cold hand presses against my mouth, stifling the scream building in my throat. A male voice murmurs in my ear, “My, you are a feisty one.” A low chuckle emanates from my captor’s throat at my desperate but futile struggles. He doesn’t flinch as my flailing legs and boots make contact with his shins. His grip tightens over my mouth and nose and I struggle to breath.

“Best not to disturb the two love-birds.” The Irish lilt is clear in the man’s quiet voice.

“It’s a delicate process, being one’s maker. It can so easily go wrong. We don’t want any mistakes now, do we.”

Do we? What does he mean…one’s maker? Isn’t she killing William?

My vision is blurring, stars burst in front of my eyes as the world around me turns red and then quickly fades to black. I struggle futilely to draw air into my lungs which burn like they contain live coals. The panic is overwhelming. I’m going to die! My own finger nails dig into the skin on my cheeks as I try desperately to prize this cold man’s fingers away from my face. As my strength fades the man’s voice brings me back briefly from the black abyss, “ Rest now, my precious. Tomorrow is not for the faint-hearted.” Even in my semi-conscious state a chill quakes my entire body. The voice is malicious, evil.

Before I can fathom the meaning of his words the abyss reclaims me.


	2. Shades of Past Love

The shirtless man standing in front of me is tall, muscular and lithe. The waves of his caramel blonde hair fall gently across his forehead. His kind eyes shine in the candle light and I watch the flames dance, reflected on their surface.

Slight crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes as a smile filled with mirth tugs softly at his lips.

“What?” I try to sound indignant that his mirth is at my expense but find my own mouth curling into an unbidden smile. The love and desire shining from those eyes - eyes the color of stormy seas - that also seem to be looking straight into my soul, are disarming to say the least.

My breath catches in my throat as his fingers trail along my cheekbone, then slide into my hair behind my ear. His voice rumbles deep in his throat, full of emotion, “You are beautiful.”

I close my eyes as color rises on my cheeks at the unexpected compliment. My William, but not...No, not William…Henry. The confusion is momentary, my mind refusing to acknowledge the anomaly, and is quickly erased from thought. With my full attention once more on the man in front of me, I trace the familiar curves of his bare chest with my fingers, my palms brushing his nipples causing them to harden.

As I open my eyes again and look up, Henry’s face moves closer to mine. His quickening breaths feather against my lips mirroring my own elevated heart rate. His fingers curl in my hair closing the distance between us, our lips melding together in a passionate kiss.

As Henry pulls away from the kiss that leaves me breathless and wanting more, always wanting more, his fingers run down my neck to between my breasts leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. With deft hands Henry releases the laces at the front of my chemise and slowly slides the straps from my shoulders, watching it cascade down my body to balloon around my feet on the floor. His eyes move back up my body caressing me with his gaze. Suddenly, my feet are no longer on the ground as he sweeps me into his arms and throws me onto the bed. I squeal at the sudden change of orientation, causing Henry to chuckle in response.

The need to be kissing this man is overwhelming. “Kiss me, again!” I urge. Sitting up on my elbows, my hair falls away from my shoulders, and I revel in my nakedness under the steady gaze of my beloved Henry. Before he has the chance to respond I decide on a different course of action, and sit up quickly, dropping my feet over the side of the bed. “But first I need to get you out of those pants.”

Henry laughs, “I’m all yours, Love,” holding his hands in the air, giving me unfettered access to his one remaining piece of clothing. Heart racing, my fingers fumble with his buttons, eagerness making me clumsy. As the last button is released I lean forward and kiss the line of light brown hair that runs vertically from just below his navel down to his pubic hair; his happy trail. I look up to see his head tilt back as a low moan escapes his lips. Slowly, very slowly, I run my hands over his hips, fingertips trailing the contours of his buttocks, following the firm muscular curves of his thighs towards his knees. The unbuttoned pants  gather before my hands until they come to rest about his lean ankles.

His fingers entwine in my hair as my lips brush his stomach. The muscles forming  the “V” that frames his lower abdomen ripple slightly at my touch as his hips push towards me. I look up into beautiful grey eyes, his pupils dilated with arousal.

“I want to taste you,” I murmur, “but you need to kiss me, now.”

Henry falls to his knees in front of me. He gently moves my knees apart, pushing his sculpted thighs between them, his torso pressing against the bare skin of my breasts making my breath catch in my throat. As his arms wrap around me pulling our bodies closer together, he whispers, “I’m yours.”

I crush my lips against his, wrapping my arms around his neck. My intensity is mirrored in Henry’s kiss as his lips part and his tongue enters my mouth. As our tongues entwine he sits back on his haunches pulling me with him. I wrap my legs around his waist to keep our bodies in contact. Any distance between us seems too far for comfort.

The fire deep inside me is building. Without warning Henry pulls away from me. I search his eyes, looking for the reason for this sudden movement. “Time for a change of pace, Pet.” One side of his mouth curls in amusement and I realize I’m pouting. “ You did say you wanted to taste me.”

I frown. “Yes?” I reluctantly disentangle my legs from around his waist and slide down his thighs to the floor. 

His amusement deepens at my expression and my less than graceful dismount. “If I keep kissing you like that I won’t be able to wait.” His eyes drop downwards momentarily and I follow his gaze. His penis is standing to attention, engorged and beautiful. A sight to behold.

“Stand up.” My voice is husky with passion.

My beautiful man, the love of my life, of many lives, complies without argument. As soon as Henry has taken a step back away from the bed and out of his pants which, until that point, had remained gathered around his ankles, I follow him to my feet and step around him. He turns to face me with his back towards the bed. “Lie down. Please,” I add.

As he lowers himself to the bed I watch the muscles of his chest and arms move and flex beneath his pale skin. The sight fans the flames within me to such intensity I have to stop myself from just jumping on board and letting him fill me up. A groan escapes my lips at the thought. Henry looks at me quizzically, an eyebrow raised slightly. The flush in my cheeks tells him of my state of arousal.

I crawl up the bed on all fours beside Henry’s muscular legs and torso, planting a quick line of kisses along the top of his thigh before positioning myself level with his hips. I reach out and grasp the base of his erection and slowly bend forward until my lips encircle him. I begin to take him into my mouth in slow and deliberate movements, the salty taste of him on my tongue. With each movement my hair falls around my face covering his stomach and tickling the tops of his thighs.

Henry moves my hair away from my face, his breathing ragged. “Enough…Love,” he whispers breathlessly, taking my shoulders and pulling me up and on top of him until I’m lying on his chest. My hair falls around his face, waves and ringlets entwining with his.

The sensation of my body pressed so close to his, our skin touching in so many wonderful places, makes thinking of anything else rather difficult. In a quick movement I’m straddling Henry. His hardness is pressed against my now wet and swollen opening. I rock forward, tilting my hips, grinding myself against him. Henry groans in response.

With a swift movement, Henry rolls me over until he looks down at me from where I was a moment ago. I wrap my legs around his waist and in a slow deliberate movement he enters me.

I gasp, my back arching off the bed at the flood of sensation, not just deep inside me but through my entire body. It’s as if all my nerves are firing at once.

Henry slowly builds momentum, my legs wrapped around him pulling him closer, deeper. I need to touch him…. everywhere… my fingers kneading at his back, then knotting in his hair, stroking his chest.

I kiss him: his mouth, his jaw, the curve of his throat. Our breaths are short and rapid, mingling together as I look up into his sculpted face. The fire expands deep within me threatening to consume me. I look into Henry’s eyes, he’s looking back at me, “I’m ready anytime you are.” His voice is low and slightly choked with passion.

All I can do is nod in response. My moans intensify as his movements quicken, his strokes lengthening.

The tightness inside me builds, clenching down around his length. The groan escaping his lips is enough to tip me over the edge. Stars explode in front of my eyes. My head is thrown back, my eyes rolling back in my head as I cry out.

As my tremors subside Henry begins to shudder against me, in me, bringing me back to the precipice again. He is so close now, we are both panting. I reach down and grab his buttocks, squeezing, trying to draw him into me even further, my nails digging into his flesh. It’s enough to tip him over the edge. Henry cries out in ecstasy as he pulls me over the precipice with him in orgasm.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

With ragged breaths I ride out the final waves with my eyes closed. As my senses slowly return I begin to wonder why my head hurts. There’s something wrong with my hands and arms, they aren’t moving. A pinching, burning pain is encircling my wrists, worsening whenever I try to move. And, why won’t my legs work?

My eyes fly open, trying desperately to adjust to the light and comprehend the scene in front of me. My heart races, adrenalin coursing through my veins. I stare in stunned incredulity at the man standing a few feet away from me, bending forward slightly to look into my face. His eyes are searching mine with curiosity and something else… Is it awe?

I manage to shake my head slightly, tearing my eyes away from the man long enough to blink. My eyes are sore, gritty. When I look back the man is still observing me. His face is somewhat familiar. Not someone I know but someone I have seen or met recently. I search my memory, forcing my brain to work through the haze of adrenalin and disorientation.

“Well, now, aren’t you a curious one?” His Irish accent is clearly audible but not as thick as it should be – like someone who has been away from his country for a long time. He doesn’t seem old enough for that kind of absence, mid to late twenties I would guess, unless he left when quite young. I then realise I’ve heard that voice before, too.

I tug at my wrists again trying to make my arms work. The biting sensation intensifies along with my panic at the realisation that my hands are tied. I’m restrained. There’s no easy escape. The colour drains from my face as cold terror sits heavy in my stomach. The blackness threatens to swallow me again. The man, seeing my impending swoon, moves quickly forward – quicker than any man should – to take my face in his hands, patting my cheek gently. His hands are cool against my skin. Not a wholly unpleasant sensation, I muse. I shake my head inwardly at my turn of thoughts. How can I be thinking such things at a time like this. I am probably going to die at this man’s hands. But, then again, I have always been drawn to the macabre.

I look up at him again. Now that he’s closer, much closer, I am able to see him more clearly. He was the broodingly handsome man walking with the dark haired woman who pursued my Henr…not Henry, William. How can the man I love, would love if I have the chance, be the same as the man from my dreams. Yes, it was a dream, a beautiful, glorious dream, but a dream none the less. Again I wonder at my capacity to ponder these things while facing impending death. I look up into the eyes of my captor - into the intensity of those dark eyes - his expression has not changed.

“What is going on inside that pretty head of yours?” He asks, his voice full of wonder. ”I have never seen anyone react in quite that fashion before, especially when rendered unconscious by an unseen attacker. What were you dreaming of? I can guess by your… reactions, of course…” He leaves the sentence hanging, full of innuendo. I blush profusely. To think this stranger saw me in the throes of passion, imagined, or otherwise, is inconceivable. My cheeks burn with the intensity of my embarrassment. His chuckle just fuels their fire.

I close my eyes taking a deep breath and blurt, “Where is William?”

Dark-and-Broody’s answer is succinct and emotionless , “William is gone.”

Before I can fathom what that single statement even means, he asks, ”Was he your beau?”

The question is simple. There is no sarcasm or teasing, just a need to know the truth. I flush again. The answer is not so simple. “Yes…No…” I stutter, “It is complicated.” _Am I pouting_? I sigh inwardly at my own ridiculousness.

My captor’s curiosity and levity at my confusion is piqued further. He leans towards me, his thumb stroking my cheek, following the contour towards my ear, before closing his fist firmly, but only barely painfully, around a handful of my hair just above the nape of my neck. The action jerks my head back slightly. I can’t help but close my eyes, my mouth open slightly in unexpected excitement at the sensation. Immediately, my eyes fly open again, cheeks heated and flushed in my embarrassment. _What is wrong with me?_ I must be losing my mind. I _should_ be quaking in fear at his action.

“You are an enigma, Miss…..” He leaves the sentence hanging as he releases my hair and stands straight once again _. Does he want something from me? And how am I an enigma?_ I stare at him blankly. His returned look patient but expectant. How can this man be so calm when he obviously means to kill me? And, if that is what is going to happen, why hasn’t it?

I think of how he had formed the unfinished sentence. _What is he waiting for? My name? Oh! My name!_

“E...Estelle…but most people call me Essie,” I gush, wondering why he wants to know. If he’s going to kill me why does he want to know my name? _Does he keep a record of his kills?_ A shudder courses through my body at the thought, a frown creasing my forehead. I jump at the sensation of the creases being gently smoothed with cold fingers. My eyes dart upwards to find his face very close to mine. Cold fingers close around my jaw as he turns my face to the side, gently exposing my neck. My breaths are coming in rasping gulps of air as his cold lips descend to the exposed flesh. With his hand resting on my cheek with his thumb following the line of my jaw, he continues to tilt my head back further. His free hand slides gently between the chair I’m tied to and the dip of my back causing me to arch towards him slightly.

There must be something seriously wrong with me, I chastise inwardly. I am becoming aroused in spite of my own immanent death at this man’s hands, or, is it because of it?

With my adrenalin-heightened senses a realisation suddenly occurs to me bringing me out of my musing. I should be able to feel his breath on my skin. I can’t. _Why is that?_

“I want to taste you,” he murmurs against my throat. His words mirroring my own from my dream sending adrenalin jolting through my system once more. My body is a confusion of fear and arousal. I feel his lips move against my skin and then his teeth pressing into my throat. A chuckle rumbles deep in his throat. My heart begins to race as I squirm in the seat, the heat inside me igniting uninvited. My back arches involuntarily, pressing my extended throat into his bite. I must be going insane! Or this is a fevered hallucination conjured by my mind in its last moments in the vain attempt to stop me from realising I am already dead. “So you want me to ride you, Essie?” as he thrust his hand and the materials of my skirts between my thighs forcing my knees apart. Inhaling sharply, I pull back my head, staring at this man; this monster, with indignation knowing full well I haven’t been able to completely conceal my underlying excitement from him. Cold mirth shines from his dark eyes as they stare back at me.

From behind his leaning form I hear a swish of fabric. Is it one of the women he was with? Is it the dark-haired woman? Is William with her? I start to struggle, trying to bring my head down to see over Dark-and-Broody’s shoulder.

“Angelus, stop playing with your food!” She sounds slightly bored but there is a motherly undertone to her statement that is tainted by another emotion. Annoyance, I think. Or, possibly impatience.

_Food?!_ Have I heard her correctly?

Suddenly my head is free. His hand gone. He is gone. With a swish of fabric both he and the woman are suddenly nowhere to be seen. How can they move so quickly? The dull thump in my head resurfaces while I’m left to my own thoughts. I strain to hear what is being said behind the nearby wall. I guess this is where they have gone. There are low sounds that could possibly be speech but I am unable to distinguish any words.

There’s a warm sticky substance on the side of my neck where his teeth had been. I crane my neck down and around, straining to see what the substance is. A steadily growing stain of red is spreading across my dress collar. Food! I am the main course. And he plans to take me, take my virtue, as the appetiser. I stare in horror at the empty doorway. _Is this what became of William?_ If I am to die I will not go without a fight, I resolve. I begin to tug sharply at my restraints, mindless of the pain flaring in my wrists as the cord cuts into my skin.

My resolve begins to metamorphose into anger. What of my virtue? How has it served me thus far? I had saved myself for one man and now my life is over and possibly his also. William would never know me.

Looking up defiantly when they both reappear ,I recognise the blonde woman who was with my captor, Angelus, on the street. Where is the other woman, the dark haired one? Where is my William? I frown at my disappointment.

“What am I doing here?” I speak in the pair’s general direction not caring who answers me just that I get an answer. It’s the woman who speaks first.

“You were somewhere you shouldn’t have been. You were going to die once we established why you were following Dru.” She speaks slowly, deliberately, as if speaking to a child. Her voice slightly bored and somewhat annoyed.

_Dru? Who the hell is Dru? Is she the bitch who stole my William before I even had a chance to make him mine?_

The blonde woman gives Angelus a quick sideways glance, “It seems things may have changed.” She turns to Angelus, “Why is she still alive?” Angelus scowls at her to which she thrusts her chin in the air and walks away.

I don’t understand what this means but it sounds like my life may not be over yet. My heart beat quickens as excitement and relief at the thought course through my veins. Questions flood my mind. _Who are these people? What had I seen or heard with William and the other woman, Dru, that would have meant I had to die? I had not had the chance to see anything. Where is William? Is he even alive?_ No one has answered me on this yet!

After she has swept from the room again, skirts rustling, Angelus approaches me. Just before he reaches me I ask tentatively, ”Who was that?”

Angelus stops mid stride, appearing to be thinking for a very brief moment. His expression changes to one of resolve as if he has come to a decision. “Her name is Darla,” he answers quietly.

He steps forward, closing the distance between us, and kneels in front of me. “There is something   different about you, Essie. I would not have had any hesitation in killing someone like you.” He sees my confusion. “Human,” he states in answer to my unasked question. “Oh, and the fun I would have had torturing you until you begged me to let you die….” The gleam of sadistic pleasure in his eyes was unmistakeable, sending cold fingers of fear down my spine. He appears not to notice; lost in the moment.

“Human?” I swallow hard, not sure I really want to know the answer to my next question but knowing it really won’t matter shortly. “Are you not human, too?”

“No.”

His answer is so straightforward, so short. I struggle to fathom the implications of what he has said. The bible tells of creatures of both good and evil, but, almost no proof can be offered to their actual existence. Which one is he? What is he? He looks human.

“I tell you this only because I want to make you one of us. I think you would be magnificent, Essie.”

My eyes narrow. _Magnificent at what?_

Angelus continues, “I was human, once, many years ago. I am now a Vampire.” He scrutinises me, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

My heart is trying to leap out of my chest through my throat at this statement. The thought of these creatures of myth actually existing is inconceivable. But, then the blood flowing from where Angelus’s teeth were on my neck should be an obvious sign he is far from normal. Angelus looks like a human, so he is either crazy or there really are monsters in the night. I swallow loudly, “You…” my voice is nothing more than a squeak. I clear my throat in the vain hope it will help. “You look human.”

Angelus smiles viciously. “Sometimes. But this is the true face of the demon within me.” As he says this something happens with his face. His brow becomes accentuated and wrinkled, his eye teeth elongating and becoming pointed. “And I am evil.”

For more than thirty seconds I stay absolutely still, holding my breath, fearful that if I move I may lose my grip on reality altogether and go completely insane. Hasn’t that already happened?

Angelis sits in front of me still with his distorted face on. He’s watching my reaction closely. I realise if I scream I will be dead before it even leaves my throat.

A memory comes to the surface unbidden. Years ago, before my parents died. A friend and I had visited the local fair. There had been a fortune teller’s tent at the fair and my friend dared me to have my fortune read. Not one to back away from such a challenge I strode into the tent.

The fortune teller had told me three things of importance, although, at the time I could not see their merit.

She had stated that I should cherish my parents and their offered friendship, support and wisdom. That I must make the most of this time with them between that moment and the same time the following year. Why that short amount of time would be so important, I could not guess. Later I understood. It had been a warning, one which I had not understood and therefore not headed. They had both left this world by the time the fair had rolled around the following year.

The fortune teller stated that I would stare death in the face and overcome him. Yes, she had definitely said him. I wonder now, could Angelus be of whom she spoke?

The third thing she had spoken of was proving a little more difficult to decipher. The fortune teller had stated that my destiny was tied intrinsically to another for eternity. I didn’t understand then. At first I thought she meant that my destiny would be decided by another person’s destiny. Now, I wonder… Could it be that these dreams I have been having are the key? In my dreams it is always me and always William. He is never called William and I am not Estelle but I know in my heart we are the same people. Our clothing is from long ago and the surroundings very different to the ones I am familiar with now. The dreams had led me to William but could the connection be deeper than that? Are we, in essence, the same people reborn again and again, to live our lives out together? Are my dreams actually memories? My mind is reeling at the possibility.

 

A new dilemma suddenly presents itself. If we are destined to be together in this life and the next, and William is dead, then I must die so we can be together again in our next life. If William is not….if he’s something else, a vampire, what does this mean – for us?

I bring my focus back once again to Angelus’s brooding face. He has watched intently at the emotions playing across my face and now seems unsure of what I might be thinking. “How long do vampires live?” I ask.

Angelus is struck dumb at the question. He cannot seem to fathom where this question has come from, especially after he has just revealed his demon-face to me. He seems to consider the question for a moment. “I do not rightly know, for sure.” As my brows knit together in a scowl he adds, ”I have already been a vampire for over 100 years. Darla is older. The vampire that sired her; made her vampire, is believed to be the oldest of our kind, possibly thousands of years old.

“Do not be mistaken we are not invincible. We can be killed. And when we die we turn to dust.” Angelus closes his eyes momentarily.

I contemplate his words for a moment. “Can you feel love?” Again, Angelus appears completely thrown by the question.

“The capacity to love remains,” he says after several moments of contemplation, “but the way we love is different. It is not civilised but raw and primal. Do not be mistaken, we are evil. Demons. And demons do not have souls.

“The rules of society no longer apply. We live for the blood, and with the blood comes death.” As he says this he absentmindedly reaches towards my neck, runs a finger through the slow trickle of  blood, places it in his mouth and sucks it clean. “Some of us have made an art form of it.” He seems almost proud of his accomplishments. There is no remorse, no regret at his actions no matter how haenous.

“We are free,” he continues. “It is freedom, from guilt, and remorse, and self-loathing.

“It is…liberating! Seeing, but more-so, creating suffering in others allows one to appreciate the frailty of the human condition. I have moved beyond that. I am stronger.

“Now, I get to see how far the human spirit can be pushed in its suffering, how much an individual can withstand before their resolve breaks and they beg to be released from their miserable lives. It can be quite surprising sometimes, what breaks one person can make another stronger. It really is fascinating.”

Angelus seems to be watching me intently again. Was he referring to me? I’m hardly fascinating. Stupid, maybe, for getting myself into this situation. And, manipulated by forces well outside my understanding, quite probably. “But,” I state slowly, trying to piece together this new information without it taking my sanity, “you do not have to do those things. The demon within you does not compel you to be so cruel? You choose to be so?”

Angelus studies me for a moment, “I do it because I can; because I want to.” Again he watches my reaction. I wonder at the scrutiny then realise I should be horrified at what he is telling me but the excitement of the possibilities for William, if he has become one of them, a vampire, and also for me override the horror. He continues after a moment when the horrified reaction he anticipated is not forthcoming. “I need blood to survive. Blood comes at a price. The price I extract is dependent on many things but in the end it is death. It is always death.”

I look down at my crumpled skirts distractedly following the maze of creases and dirt upon the fabric as I contemplate the information that Angelus has shared with me. In reality, I can see that it says more about Angelus than Vampires as a whole – I hope. As much as his blatant admission of wanton cruelty has chilled me to the bone there is a glimmer of hope in his confessions. Angelus wants to make me like him. What was the term? Sire? He wants to sire me. Will I have a choice to be cruel in my bloodlust or can I seek blood only for sustenance? Will I want to curb my appetite once I’m turned?

The fact that I am considering this at all should be more horrifying to me than Angelus’s confessions. Do I have a choice in this? The only alternative is death.

Would death be such a poor alternative? I think back to the dreams I’ve been having, and wonder if what I’ve seen is correct; that this is not the first time I’ve lived. Will I live again – after this life? Why am I remembering these lives? Why am I different to most other people? Don’t the majority of the population just go about their lives oblivious to any previous incarnations? Many don’t even believe in reincarnation.

Another thought hits me. I could have already lived my allotted lives. If I die this time I may not come back. Maybe my only option, the only way to be sure is to agree to Angelus’s proposal.

At the back of my mind the question sits unanswered. Why am I living again and again?

What is bringing me back, is it unfinished business? And what would that business be? An image of William appears in my mind. My heart starts to race as my thoughts do the same. But if William is now a vampire what does this mean for us?

I sigh. The frustration at my current situation and the unknown making me tug at my restraints. I look up suddenly. Angelus has been standing there quietly watching my inner turmoil. “Welcome back,” he states with a crooked smile.

Looking into Angelus’s questioning eyes, I make a decision to tell him…everything.

“You may think I have lost my mind,” I begin.

Angelus chuckles, “You haven’t met Drusilla yet. You’ll know madness then.”

I frown slightly at the hint of what sounds like pride in his words. Why would her madness be a source of pride? Has he made her so? A shudder courses through me before I can halt it.

I rush on before I can think about it anymore, “I think my dreams are of a past life. This is not the first time I have been alive.” Angelus appears puzzled.

“Do you believe in re-incarnation?” I ask him.

“I have never thought upon it. But, before I met Darla, I was also unaware of the existence of vampires. So, how can I refute what you say?” He gives me a crooked smile by way of encouragement to continue.

“I have dreamed of a life I have lived before; certain parts of that life in particular.” The colour rising in my cheeks betrays me as my thoughts drift to the memories I was experiencing before I awoke under Angelus’s scrutiny.

I find myself again under that same scrutiny. “There’s something you are not saying,” he states.

I pause briefly before rushing on, “I think the person who is with me in my dream may have also lived this other life, with me.”

“Who was it, in your dreams?”

I choose to ignore his question, and Angelus doesn’t look pleased. “I was not more than fifteen years old the first time I experienced one of my dreams. At the time, my family did not yet live in London. It wasn’t until several years later that I would meet the man I had been dreaming of so intimately.

“My family moved to London and I made several female friends around my age, one of whom took me to a party. It was there that I saw him for the first time. However, he didn’t see me. His eyes and heart belonged to another. Someone who did not return his affections and certainly didn’t deserve them.”

My eyes turn cold at the thought of Cecily.

A look of realisation passes over Angelus’s face, “You believe it was William; Dru’s William, in this other life,” he states.

I nod, “Yes, but he doesn’t seem to know me the way I know him.

“This must sound crazy to you. I sound insane to me.” I shake my head at myself.

Angelus shakes his head slightly as he moves closer to me. I close my eyes and look away.

“William is lost to you, Essie.” Angelus croons softly, close to my ear. “ He belongs to Drusilla now. She has made him one of us. It seems he accepted her offer quite eagerly, to escape a broken heart. If your dreams are the truth of your heart, he is not the man you seek.”

A tear slides defiantly down my cheek as I will myself to be strong. How could I have been so wrong?

A shift in the air around me brings me back to my senses, the hairs on my arms stand up in response. I feel a presence in front of me, around me. My eyes leap open in momentary terror. Angelus now straddles my legs and the chair to which I am still restrained. Somehow, my bonds have been removed from around my ankles. Angelus must have done this as he moved to straddle me when my eyes were closed. His arms encircle my shoulders, hands resting upon the back of the chair for support. He does not bear any weight upon me but seems to hover above and around me. His proximity is unnerving as my mind reels from the information he has just given me.

Can I trust him? Why would he lie to me? It wouldn’t matter to him whether William was alive or dead and he could just as easily have told me he was dead. Or, is this part of his mind games to which he made mention previously; to see how far I can be pushed before I break?

I stare up into Angelus’s eyes searching their depths for some answers. It is like looking into chasms filled with dark, bottomless pools of water, their surface reflecting nothing but their surroundings. From deep within me a slight tugging sensation reaches outwards. A slight change in Angelus’s expression, like a ripple starting below the surface of water, passes so quickly I almost don’t notice it. What had caused it at the very moment it felt like my soul had reached out? But reached out to whom? Angelus? The man who claims to be vampire and by rights, as such, should have no soul?  Had he felt something too? Is this why he was compelled to keep me alive when he should have just killed me after discovering me at the stable?

I struggle to think clearly, going back over the information I had gleaned from books I had read on the subject. I had spent hours at the local library trying to understand the dreams and the connection I felt to William. The best I could fathom from all the different points of view on the subject is that some believe that each person’s soul makes connections with other souls throughout their lives. Some connections are to learn from, others are their forever mate. I thought William had been my forever connection. I was so wrong it seems.

Everything I read I had to keep secret from my parents and my friends. They would not have understood. The books and information contained within would be considered blasphemous and heresy. I found the information in the occult section of the library and stayed in the darkest corner I could find, away from the public viewing area, so as not to be discovered during my research.

I look again at Angelus. “You felt that too, didn’t you?”

He looks stunned for a moment. “Yes,” is all he says in response.

“That somehow we are connected?” My heartrate increases at my words. I can sense the subtle change in Angelus’s posture. My gaze moves from his face, involuntarily following the curve of his broad shoulders down to the subtle mounds of pectoral muscles under his white linen shirt. I catch myself before my eyes travel any lower. I know instantly that I yearn to see what other mounds his clothing may be shrouding. I chastise myself for such wanton thoughts. I may have never experienced the touch of a man in real life but I feel like I know what I have been missing, intimately. The dreams have been so intense and seem so real it is sometimes hard to remember what is the truth of my life. The truth is, however, that I had not even been kissed by a man before Angelus. I had held out in the vain hope that William was the man for me. Others had shown interest and some had even asked my parents’ permission to court me. I had not been agreeable, and they soon moved on.

Now this darkly handsome man, who is not even a man, has sparked a fire deep within me. I laugh inwardly at myself, reiterating how I have always been drawn to the darker side of life.

“You are meant to be one of us, Essie, and we will be magnificent!” His voice rumbles deep in his chest telling me what I need to hear.

Instantly, the decision is made. I lean forward quickly until my lips contact Angelus’s. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss. His hands trail coolness down my arms and suddenly my restraints are gone. The burn in my wrists from the rope’s bite lingers but I don’t care. I throw my arms around his neck pulling him against me. His hands move to my waist and suddenly he stands bending forward, my arms still around his neck, and I am weightless, being picked up as if a small child. Angelus sits, once again straddling the chair to which I was restrained but this time he places me upon his legs, pinning me between his body and the back of the chair. I am trapped but I don’t care. My skirts are bunched up around the top of my thighs with one leg on either side of his waist. I try to remember how this has come to pass but my brain will not move past the wonderful sensation of Angelus’s tongue wrapped around my own as we discover one another.

He kisses me again and again until I am breathless. His hands slide slowly up my legs until they linger on my outer thighs just under the bunched fabrics of my skirts. I take advantage of this pause to take his unnaturally cool face in my now overly warm hands so I can look him in the eyes as I say, “Yes.” Angelus stares at me blankly as if our building passion has clouded his mind.

“Yes, I want you to…sire me.” My heart is racing at my statement and at the desire I feel for Angelus. I plan to wipe the confusion I feel for William from my memory. Angelus is making it much easier to achieve than I ever thought possible.

A wickedly mischievous smile curls the edges of his mouth, making him even more handsome. “Then let us consummate this arrangement, forthwith!”

I giggle dementedly in response to his attempt at humour as the fires within me blaze anew at his words. I feel as if the flames will consume me. His hands continue their journey up my thighs. There is a strong pulling sensation and sting as fabric bites into my skin around my waist.

With a loud tearing sound my undergarments are gone, torn from my body as it they were paper. I sit straddling this demon, my nakedness exposed beneath my skirts. My breath is rasping within my throat. Is he going to enter me as he turns me? A shudder courses through my body and I wonder if it is from pleasure or fear, although deep down I am aware it is undoubtedly both.

With slow deliberate movements Angelus moves my head back to gain access to my neck. Starting just below my ear, he plants firm kisses in a line down my throat. I feel his tongue against my skin and then his teeth as he teases me, not biting with any pressure.

One of his hands disappears from where they had come to rest entwined in my hair beside my face. That momentary distraction is replaced by another as I hear and feel the materials of my skirt rustling and moving as his hand slides underneath. My breath hitches in my throat as I wait for the touch that does not eventuate. However, I hear laces and buttons being undone from his own clothing. Oh, my!

Suddenly words tumble from my mouth, “You feel pleasure, then?”

A low chuckle, “Oh, aye. We feel all kinds of pleasure.” He grabs my hips and pulls me hard against him. I feel his erection pressing against the soft flesh between my legs. A gasp escapes me as my eyes widen at this familiar dream sensation which is suddenly made real. “I….I…have never….”

Angelus sits back slightly to look at me his eyes also wide. I don’t give him a chance to say anything before I rush on, “You say you are this cruel creature who tortures and kills for the thrill of it. You have had every opportunity to do the same to me. The cruellest thing you could have done would be to take my innocence, rape me until I beg for release from this life, and then turn me, but you haven’t.”

“His eyes narrow slightly, “I still can, if you wish it.”

When my body stiffens slightly at his words he adds, ”If this is what I wished to do to you it would have already come to pass. No, Love. I do not wish you mad with the injustices I could visit upon you. I have other hopes for you. There is something different about you, compelling. I think you would be magnificent as one of us. Oh, the swathe we shall cut through this town, the world, no less! It will be glorious!

He looks down at me, his eyes suddenly smouldering, “I want to be your first in everything human and vampire.” His kiss flattens my lips against my teeth, his vampire strength disregarded in his urgency to possess me.

My own urgency to know him is immediately rekindled at his kiss. How can I be so aroused by someone who has just asked me to massacre whole towns of people with him? I shrug inwardly again, I was always drawn to the dark side.

Angelus’s hands are once again around my waist lifting me, positioning me above his engorged shaft. His face is once again that of the demon within.

A guttural scream filled with agony and rage pierces the air around us. I jump at the sound, torn from the passionate embrace. A growl emanates from low in Angelus’s throat and he is gone. I am thrown back onto the chair quite unceremoniously, my skirts flashing my nakedness to the world. I quickly adjust them and wonder at my sudden bout of modesty.

As Darla is dragged callously from the building I hear her say, “How much longer do you intend to punish me?” I do not hear the response as she and Angelus have moved too far away from me now.

Time moves slowly as I wait for Angelus to return. So we can finish what he started, I hope. My cheeks flush again at the moment that had been cut short by Darla’s reappearance. Their relationship seems troubled. Maybe he wouldn’t mind if I _accidentally_ killed her once he has sired me? I have to laugh at myself – already thinking like a vampire with little regard for life, human or otherwise.

I hear a noise at the doorway to the building I have been kept captive in. It suddenly occurs to me that I could have possibly escaped during angelus’s present absence. But then, it could also be a test. In which case I pass with flying colours! I realise that I do not want to go. I want this – want him - Angelus, and this other life he is offering me. I look up expecting to see his dark and brooding eyes.

A woman stands at the doorway, her hair long and black, big eyes shining with madness. Drusilla.

“So, Daddy has a new play thing? Oh, bad Daddy!”

She walks slowly towards me as if waltzing to some inaudible music. As she gets closer she stops and looks at me quizzically. “My, your light does shine bright! I can see why Daddy is transfixed. Grandmummy really isn’t very pleased. You shouldn’t make Grandmummy cross, you know,” waggling her index finger at me as if I am a recalcitrant child.

Drusilla takes another few steps closer, but again she stops a couple of steps short of where I sit. This time she sniffs the air. A giggle tinged with insanity burbles from her delicate throat. “Oh, naughty, naughty daddy, what did he do to you?” She looks at me conspiratorially, bending towards me with her hands upon her knees, “did you like it?”

I flush bright red at the inappropriate question, and also at the answer. Drusilla squeals in delight at my reaction, clapping her hands like a small child.

She suddenly seems distracted by something. Before I can look around to find what it is that she sees, Drusilla starts to babble about the pretty lights and all the strings that attach them to one another. I know she is seeing something that isn’t there or, at least, it’s something I’m just not meant to see. I decide to play along anyway. “Do the lights belong to people?” I ask.

Drusilla nods enthusiastically. Encouraged I continue, “Can you tell who the lights belong to?” She appears to study them for a moment, her head tilted slightly to the side in concentration.

“Some. They swim like little fishes in a barrel. It’s hard to keep track.” Her bottom lip pushes out in a pout. I realise that I could lose her here at any moment, so try my luck in a slightly more direct line of questions.

“Do you see Angelus?”

“Angel Daddy, I see him.” She seems slightly puzzled. “He does give off light tonight. The string from your light to his makes him stronger, brighter. I can see him.” Drusilla is standing directly in front of me now. She leans forward, placing her hands upon my knees. “You smell like apple tea-cakes and roses. Daddy wouldn’t mind if I had a little taste?”

“Yes he would!” I state bluntly. Drusilla starts to make a keening noise and her bottom lip begins to quiver with imagined tears. Angelus will be back soon, let him be back soon.

To distract her, I hope, I ask, “Who else do you see? Do you recognise William?”

Drusilla blinks as if she has been slapped across the face.” William? My William? I birthed him, you know. I was his other mother what gave birth to him… when he was reborn.” Her eyes suddenly narrow as she studies the light, as if seeing something for the first time. His light went out when I birthed him. Why can I see him with your light? You have Daddy! Why do you want my William too? He’s my plaything!”

Drusilla’s eyes widen until they threaten to pop from her skull. “The suns! The twin suns! They burn so bright! You have Daddy. You can’t have him and eat William too! Daddy won’t allow it! You will burn Angel Daddy!” Her voice has reached screaming pitch.

She launches like a wild cat going for the kill. Her teeth bared, face distorted in the visage of the demon. As her razor-sharp teeth sink into my throat tearing through the soft flesh I know real terror for the first time in my life. _Angel save me._

I hear the slurping, swallowing noise from Drusilla’s throat as the light starts to fade around me. With my last ragged breaths I whisper to Dru, knowing she’ll be able to hear me perfectly, “I will live again, you know I will. And when I do, I will find you. I will have Angelus, I make William mine and I will hunt you down and kill you slowly. What Angelus did to you was child’s play.”

The guttural scream issuing from Drusilla was primal as she tore my throat out. The scream could be heard blocks away. The world once again turns black.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The sudden core-rumbling sound of a V8 engine roaring to life makes me misstep as I stroll across the campus parking lot towards the adjacent bus stop. I whip around to find the occupants of the Pontiac Firebird, 1969 Trans Am, laughing hysterically at my apparent trepidation. The driver revs the engine repeatedly making the car twist on its suspension like a racehorse bucking at the starting gates on race day, eager to be out of the stalls. The afternoon sun glints blindingly off the gleaming white paintwork.

The machine launches from its parking lot towards me. I keep walking, forcing one foot in front of the other, willing myself forward against better judgment and instincts of self-preservation.

Laughter rolls from the vehicle as it roars past me, “Made ya look, Freak!”

I yell back, “Does Daddy know you have his car?” As they race past I swing my book bag at the vehicle, listening to the satisfactory screech as metal buckles connect with the gleaming paintwork. I hold my breath, waiting for the vehicle to slow in response to my crime. The music is obviously too loud as they continue on without hesitation. Wait until Daddy finds that scratch; hoping silently that they don’t connect the damage with this little altercation.

“Assholes!” I mutter under my breath as I reach the relative safety of the bus stop.

“Who are?” Liz pipes up from the bus seat behind me.

“No one!” I immediately regret my snappy retort. Exhaling loudly, trying to rid myself of the angst the confrontation had caused, I answer, “Greves and Murphy. They thought it was funny scaring the shit out of me in the parking lot.”

Liz’s face scrunches in disgust. She has had run-ins with these creeps as well. Rich kids with a chip on their shoulders and something to prove.

“How did you do on the chem exam?” Liz changes the subject quickly.

Liz is my chemistry lab partner. She is also the only reason I am still passing the subject. “I passed,” I smile at her, muttering “…I hope,” under my breath.

“How’s that other assignment coming along, the one you’ve been spending so many hours on in the library?” Liz asked cheerfully, knowing when to leave well enough alone.

“Oh, It’s coming along well. Slowly, but well.” I answer. “There is so  much I could be writing about. Who knew there was so  much to the subject.” My voice trails off as my mind wanders to the content of my soon due paper on vampires in society; real or a metaphor? As I mentally sift through the information I have managed to source on the subject my thoughts shift to what it would be like to actually be a vampire. Images spring to mind of the two rich-kid jerks who had buzzed me in the parking lot, screaming in terror, flailing inanely, as their blood is drained. Their lives torn from their throats. A satisfied smile creeps onto my face at the image.

“What are you thinking about?” Liz queries looking quizzically at my expression.

“Nothing…nothing.”  I flounder for a rational explanation to my amused smirk. “I was just thinking about something I’d read on vampires while I was researching the other night,” I hurriedly lie.

“Saved by the bus,” I whisper under my breath as the Number 5 pulls into its space behind me. I like Liz, she’ s a good friend but she has a way of seeing past the surface and getting to the underlying truth. I don’t need that kind or scrutiny at the moment. We say our hurried goodbyes and I quickly choose a seat by myself as the bus moves away from the bus stop and out onto the street. Finally I can be alone with my thoughts, at least for the length of the bus ride.

The library is quiet and cool. The afternoon sun streams through the windows forming large pools of orange light on the marble floor. The sound of my heels echoes throughout the cavernous space as I move quickly towards the shelves containing city records where I have spent many hours recently looking for information for my research paper.

The process is slow going, scanning pages and pages of information, looking for any morsel of data that would bring me closer to the truth. Closing the final book in the library a little too forcefully in frustration, I close my eyes, allowing my mind to drift to the strange dreams I have been experiencing over the last few months.

The dreams are not like the usual scattered ramblings of a sleeping mind. They’re more like memories. The image of one recurring character within my dreams appears in my mind. As I study the image his eyes, the colour of stormy seas, seem to pierce my soul. If only those eyes were real and I could lose myself in them, I muse. As I recall the dreams this man’s high sculpted cheekbones, caramel curls resting on his for forehead, and gentle nature melt my heart. _Why can’t I meet a guy like him?_

From the dreamscape I gleaned the setting to be London. With some investigation I was able to establish the approximate time frame of the dreams by the period attire of the men and women depicted. I had narrowed it down to between 1850’s to around 1900. On an impulse I had contacted the London Museum asking for copies of the newspapers within those dates. Remarkably they obliged by providing copies of the hundreds of newspapers on microfiche to the New York Library which, to my dismay, has apparently become my second home. It will take me weeks to finish going through all the articles.

After many long nights and weeks of scanning through the microfiche copies, with bleary eyes, I had stumbled upon newspaper articles of the night in London when a young gentleman by the name of William Pratt had disappeared, the same night a woman by the name of Estelle Ashmore had also gone missing. I nearly missed the article as I scanned the page, eyes tired from looking at the screen for so long. The five minute warning sounded over the library’s sound system, alerting me to how late it is. Mom is going to kill me! Estelle Ashmore. The name sends chills down my spine as I read it once again. Why this name? What is its significance? After frantically reading further articles, I am still no closer to the truth. _But what truth?_ _What am I looking for?_

More articles showed it was at a time of several disappearances and disturbing murders throughout London city. Because William and Estelle had frequented the same social circles and they had attended the same party the night of her disappearance, William had been implicated in her death.

Estelle’s body had been discovered several days later. It had been in the Thames for that time and the cause of death - although obviously heinous in nature - and therefore her murderer, were never identified.

“Hu…hmmm” I turn sharply at the sound. The librarian stands beside me tapping her wristwatch before walking away in a bustling, business-like manner. Hurriedly, I gather my things and rush out the door as the librarian stands holding it open for me. I am the last one left besides her. Her stern look expresses her displeasure at being so late to close the library, with the door almost hitting me in the ass as I exit.

Once in the street I turn and move towards the train station to make my way home. The street is dark apart from the few pools of light cast by the street lamps overhead. After reading the details of those murders in London I am a little spooked at the thought of walking home alone. Although, in New York, there were always disappearances, the number  of reported disappearances and murders   has increased in this part of the city in particular.  I hurry on towards the platform, worrying that Mom will be going crazy right about now because I am so late.

The man’s voice coming from the stranger a few people ahead of me makes my legs stop working. I nearly stumble as adrenalin pulses through my veins, pushing me to fight or flight mode. All I can see of him is his back as he pushes aside one of the other passengers to enter the stationary train. The denim vest with ragged arm holes, as if the sleeves have been torn from the garment, frame the sculptured upper arms of this man with blonde, spikey hair so bleached it is almost white. It’s his accent, working class North London, and the sound of his voice; I know his voice. I push forward towards the now closing doors of the train, receiving disgruntled noises and glares from the other people waiting on the platform for the next train. The doors close and the train pulls away but not before I catch a glimpse of the stranger’s face as he looks right at me. My world seems to spin for a moment as his stormy grey eyes meet mine. A small smirk creases his mouth at one corner as he rocks gently holding one of the overhead straps as the train picks up speed and disappears into the darkness. I know that face. I had been studying it not more than an hour ago in the library while I looked at the newspaper photo of William Pratt. My mind must be playing tricks on me, I know I thought he was handsome, but for it to transform a strangers face…. I must be tired, that’s it.

I realise it wasn’t this man’s face that had first drawn my attention. I struggle to understand how I could be familiar with his voice. I don’t know anyone with an English accent let alone a North London accent. My thoughts keep me withdrawn for the train ride home.

I’m met with icy words at my reckless and uncaring behaviour for making Mom worry after me like that, and dinner, which is not much warmer. I push the food around my plate for a while, trying to work out where I have heard this man’s voice before but to no avail. I trudge to my room sullenly, the thought of the thesis soon due and yet unfinished did nothing to improve my mood. When sleep finally claims me I fall into a restless, uneasy sleep full of images and sounds of other places and other times. 

College is a drone of voices and slowly passing hours. Finally my last class of the day ends. I decide to walk home instead of taking the bus. The change of scenery and a little exercise might clear my head of these thoughts of the man on the train who looked like the man from London, William, who had died so many years ago.

After walking for I don’t know how long, I look up and finally take note of my surroundings. With a jolt of shock I realise I have wandered into a part of town I have never been before. I quickly scan up and down the street; nothing looks familiar. With a small sense of panic rising I look at my watch. 4.36! How did it get that late? I have been wandering aimlessly for nearly an hour. I have no clue in what direction I have travelled or how far. I scan the street once again. There are a few people at the far end going about their business so I decide it’s best to ask someone where I am. Hopefully I can get some directions back to the college.

A little over half way to the milling people a shop front catches my eye. It is a quaint, old style bookshop. It’s multi-paned front window glints in the afternoon sun, slightly obscuring the view of the array of books on display behind it. I move closer to get a better look. There are leather bound books, hand-written journals and first editions all neatly showcased on metal stands and red velvet cushions.

Before I think twice about it I open the door and walk inside. The bell above the door tinkles in welcome. Inside, in the forward most shelves, the shop holds the usual mainstream reading material, cook books and reference books. I browse the shelves absent-mindedly, slowly moving further into the shop. In a hidden corner, far at the rear of the shop, I discover there is a whole other world of literature. Reference books on every form of the occult imaginable and beyond.

I spend the next couple of hours immersed in the information held in those books. The shop owner is most helpful with my searches. She is a middle-aged black woman with salt-and-pepper hair and kind, crystal clear eyes that shine with knowledge beyond her years. As I leave the shop just before dark - I’m not going to be late home again like I was last time - she smiles kindly at me and tells me to come again anytime I want. I realise I have exhausted my resources at the library and can find a lot more relevant information at this shop so decide to visit again in the next couple of days. No matter what is driving me to research this particular subject I still have a thesis to hand in.

                                                                               *****************************************************

 

As I enter the shop the little bell tinkles my arrival, Sola greets me from her counter to the left of the doorway. “Back again, huh? That’s the third time this week”. The owner, Sola, is always helpful and friendly. She is a middle-aged African American woman with salt-and-pepper hair and kind, crystal clear eyes that shine with knowledge beyond her years. We had spoken frequently throughout the my visits. I discover she possesses a great amount of knowledge on many subjects and she admits during one of my visits to the shop that she is wiccan.

As always, she leaves me in peace to find my way to the back of the shop. Today there is something different, something about the way the air feels. I move through the book shelves and when I reach the hidden section my hand extends out briefly touching each book gently as I pass by. Suddenly, my hand stops, hovering over a rather old looking volume. Funny, I’ve never noticed this book before.

As I carefully open the pages, the information seems to blur for a moment before becoming clearly defined. It is a book written about a secret organisation called the Watchers Council. I wonder if they know that there is an entire book written on their history right up to only a few decades ago. On closer inspection of the book there is no publishing information. The book seems to be a one-off. Almost like the writer’s personal journal. I approach Sola, with the text hoping she knows something about it.

A warm smile spreads across Sola’s face when I present the book to her. With light gleaming off the apples of her cheeks, “This book is very special, Becky. It was given to me by a dear friend of the family when I was a young woman. I was entrusted with it’s safekeeping so that if something ever happened to the Council some of their history would be saved.

“The book is cloaked in a charm that allows only someone who is worthy of, or needs, the information held within its pages, to find it. You may read it, it has chosen you.”

All of a sudden a world of vampires, demon and a girl called the Vampire Slayer opens up to me. I never imagined that what I dreamt about could actually be real. The book has me intrigued. As I sit in the sundrenched shop reading the Watchers book, I idly flick through the pages looking at various illustrations as my mind ponders the information I have read so far. My hand stills as I stare at a picture within the book. It is of a young man in very old fashioned clothing, his long hair touching his shoulders. As I stare at the portrait images from a recent dream flood my mind. The man in the book… how can this be real? First William, now this man?

Sola has her hand on my shoulder as I look up into her soulful eyes. My eyes are wide, the colour drained from my cheeks.

“What is wrong, child?” Sola’s voice is soft yet full of concern.

After a moment I hold up the book in shaky hands, showing the Sola the picture.

“I know… well…not know… I’ve dreamed of him before.”

Her warm, papery smooth hand on my cheek steadies my breathing slightly. “Come with me. Come, come,” she tuts as I fail to move at the gentle urging of her hand around mine. “A cup of tea is in order.”

After sitting me down at her kitchen table in the back room of her shop she proceeds to make us a pot of tea. I look around the room. It is light filled and has the most wonderful, calming air about it. There are beautiful cut flowers in a tall crystal vase sitting on the buffet at one side of the room. The heady scent of roses amongst the bouquet fill the space and I breathe deeply. The round table at which I sit has elegantly carved wooden legs peeking out from below the crisp white tablecloth. Seated on the plump, upholstered chair at the table I absently smooth the tablecloth beneath my hands while Sola busies herself in the kitchenette to the side of the elegantly presented room.

I quietly explain the dreams I have had that seem more like memories as Sola continues preparing the tea. Before long she approaches the table with cups and saucers before quickly turning again to retrieve the plate of delicate little cakes and biscuits along with the teapot stand. Once those are on the table the teapot quickly follows. As she lowers herself into an adjacent chair Sola motions to the cakes and begins filling our teacups. The steaming amber liquid fills the cups as tea leaves swirl languidly at the bottom once she’s finished pouring. I wonder why she has not used a strainer but say nothing as she offers to pour milk into my cup.

We speak about how she came to own the book shop and her family’s history of Wicca and shamanism while I sip at the delicious, hot tea. As I near the bottom of the cup Sola places her hand upon my wrist, “Leave half a mouthful in the cup, won’t you dear?”

I nod, understanding the request but not the reason why. Was it so I didn’t drink the leaves?

“I’m going to read your tealeaves, Becky. Hold the handle in your left hand and swirl the tea three times in the cup, moving the cup from left to right. Then turn the cup gently upside down into the saucer. That’s right,” her smile reassuring.  “Let it rest there for a moment or two to make sure the liquid has had time to drain from the tealeaves. Now, turn the cup back up slowly.”

She holds out her hand and I carefully pass the cup to her. I’m surprised to see only a few leaves have made their way into the saucer with the drained liquid. As she studies the contents Sola keeps a constant, relaxed expression on her face. After a few moments that seem like forever she says, “ Yes, yes, I think I see,” as she looks up at me and smiles.

“You were right in thinking the dreams were past lives. It seems you have been here before, several times, I think. You also seem to be connected to another, a man.” Before she continues she pushes her chair away from the table. “One moment.”

Very shortly she returns from the book shop carrying a relatively new looking text, quickly thumbing through the pages. She sits quietly as she scans the information held within. “Yes, here it is. This man, I believe, is your twin flame.” I look at her quizzically having not heard the term before.

“You have heard of soul mates?”

I nod.

“There is a common misconception that a soul mate is a person’s true love, the one that you will happily spend the rest of your life with. The truth is that most of the time there is more than one soul mate for every person and they are sent to us throughout our lives to challenge us and teach us valuable life lessons. They need not be lovers and could even be family members. Twin flames, on the other hand, are created when the cosmic energy that makes a soul separates into two parts – two separate souls – at its creation. Each person has only one twin flame. The souls generally find one another in their last reincarnation so they can ascend together at the end of their final lives.” Sola pauses for a moment, looking me in the eyes, checking she has not lost me. After a moment of getting my head around what she has just said I nod for her to continue.

“Your case is somewhat unusual. You seem to have come together with your twin flame before the true time. Each time the universe has seen to rectify this by one of you moving on .” She frowns slightly as she picks up the tea cup again, moving it about in her hands. “In your dreams, you have died several times before, once you have made the connection with this man?”

“Twice, before he was….changed. Once since then.”

“Changed?” Sola questions.

I look at the Watchers journal I had brought with me from the bookshop, the book that had started this discussion, still in my hand. I glance apologetically towards Sola before quickly thumbing through the journal to the picture that has stopped me in my tracks earlier. I turn the book so she can see the man in the image.

Sola’s smile freezes momentarily. “Angelus? This isn’t good, my dear.”

I look back at the book, “What? No! Not Angelus. Well, yes, he is part of one of my dreams, but it’s not him.” I frown, wondering how I can explain this quickly. If Angelus is in this book that means he existed and vampires are real. Could William be in here too? I hurriedly flick through the pages scanning for any mention of William Pratt. An entry catches my eye. William the Bloody. That was what the snobs at the party had called William behind his back. I turn the page to have my breath catch in my throat.

“Him!” turning the book to Sola once again.

“Well,” she smiles encouragingly. “Let’s see what we can work out.

“Now, back to your past lives. What happened the first time? What can you remember?” I wonder briefly why it would be so bad for it to have been Angelus. I don’t have time to ask as Sola takes both of my hands in hers, “I can help you focus. Relax and let the images flow. Close your eyes if it helps.”

I close my eyes and allow my mind to drift back to the dreams I’ve had of my past lives. The time I believe to be my first life was the longest and happiest I recall.

                                                                                         *********************************************************

 

The doors of the subway train slide open with a hiss and I stand watching the passengers hurriedly disembarking, and rushing to enter the train in its short time at the station. This isn’t my train so there is no fear of being left behind. I can stand back and observe; people-gaze. I feel drained after my session with Sola but strangely buzzed at the same time. By the time Sola and I finished examining my dreams and cross-referencing them to the Watchers journal and other books around the subject of reincarnation the sun had been down for hours. Watching people completely oblivious to the world of the supernatural continue about their daily lives is somehow calming.

Even at this time of the night men and women in suits rush to be somewhere. I guess that “somewhere” is mostly home with their families and loved-ones. I feel a twang of guilt that I am not home like I promised my parents, but they’re both out tonight. Some work function for Dad that will keep them both out until the early hours of the morning, no doubt.

Mixed with the executive types are party-goers and couples on a night out. With the diversity of culture and dress codes within this city no one actually stands out for being different, until I see him step from the train just as the doors close and it pulls away from the station. His heavily bleached hair is spiked all over his head; very punk rocker. The long leather coat he’s now wearing swings about his legs with his distinctive swagger; the blonde spikey-haired man from the last time I was at the train station past my home time. The one that looked so much like…. “William!" It was barely a whisper but his head whipped around as if I’d shouted it at him.  His eyes sweep over me as he scans the commuters looking for the source of his name. Just as quickly he turns away. I can’t see his face as he moves along the platform towards the exit stairs but I catch a glimpse of his sharply chiselled jawline that makes my knees not want to hold me upright any longer. I try to take a step to follow him but find my feet have suddenly started weighing more than I can lift.

With a small squeak my voice has become a traitor, too. All the while a weight inside me is growing heavier. A weight that is trying to move outwards instead of down. It’s like the gravitational pull between the sun and the earth except something has happened to the orbit. I’m the earth and I’m being pulled towards the centre of the sun. My legs begin working of their own volition, pushing me after this blonde man that seems to be acting as my own personal magnet.

As I rush from the train station I just catch a glimpse of the leather coat tails as they disappear around a corner into a nearby alley. With my heart pounding I rush on into the alley. I’m halfway down the alleyway before I realise it’s empty. There’s no one else here but me. My steps falter at the discovery but I continue on hoping I’ll catch a glimpse around the next bend. There’s a building that juts into the alley further than the surrounding structures creating a dark corner that I had initially mistaken for the end of the backstreet. As I approach I realise my mistake and quicken my steps towards the next street. A dark figure moves far too swiftly from within the shadows, clamping vice-like arms around me and drags me into the gloomy recess. The wall is cold pressed hard against my back as my assailant’s body presses against me from the front. Light coming from a nearby window casts dark shadows across the man’s face, making it impossible to discern his features. His voice, oh, that voice. “Why are you following me?” he rumbles, his grip around my arms pinning them to my sides.

“William.” I struggle to look into his eyes as I speak the name of the man who has filled my dreams. Can this man really be the same person?

“No one’s called me that in a very long time, love. How do you know my na……? You know what? It doesn’t matter. ‘Cos I killed a slayer tonight and I’m in a bloody good mood!”

“So, your name is William?” My heart beats faster at the prospect. It’s him! I know it is. I can feel it. Before he has time to answer I strain upwards against his stone grasp pressing my lips to his. They are cold but malleable. He pulls away in surprise at my boldness.

“Now, hang on pet! I think you may have me confused with someone else.” But even with those words his body presses against mine, his arousal at the situation making its presence felt. “Aren’t you a bit young to be out on the streets so late?”

“I know who you are. What you are.” I have nothing to lose by telling the truth. That arousal is quite probably at the prospect of my death at the end of his teeth, not for any other pleasures someone like me could offer him. He’s already stated, in as many words, he thinks I’m too young. My heart sinks slightly at the thought. His face moves closer to mine before lowering his lips to my neck. I feel them brushing the skin below my ear, sending shivers down my spine, my breath catching momentarily in my throat.

“Who sent you?” he croons against my skin. I struggle to look at his face, trying to work my chin around and under his to force his eyes up to meet mine.

“No one! No one sent me. It’s hard to explain!” I struggle futilely against his, once again tightening, grip on my arms. I know bruises are already forming beneath his fingers.

“I should kill you right here. But, I’m in a good mood and I’ve got all night. Let’s go. I like a good story, especially when it’s about me.” He turns sharply dragging me from the dark corner, down the alleyway and into the street beyond. He moves so quickly, in and out of streets and alleys, that within minutes I am lost. Even if I was able to escape him I wouldn’t know which way to run.

A group of people walk towards us as we hurry down the street. They are minding their own business, out on the town for the night. Suddenly, I am tucked against his side, my wrist still held tight by the hand at the end of his arm slung so casually across my shoulders. My other arm is fixed firmly behind his back and secured in his vice-like clasp at his hip. At a glance I imagine we look like two lovers out on a date, strolling in a comfortable embrace. As the group reaches us and moves past, one of them casts a concerned glance in my direction, maybe sensing all was not as it seems. That concern could get him killed. William looks down at me and smiles as I look up to meet his gaze, pleading silently for him not to hurt this man. His lips meet mine in what seems like a passionate kiss to the concerned passer-by who quickly looks away from the lurid public show of affection. In this age of Flower Power and Free Love people are still embarrassed at others displays of affection.

Tingles pass through my entire body at the sensation of his lips against mine. I move into William’s kiss, turning into the embrace. His steps slow then stop altogether as the kiss deepens.  It is no longer necessary for the passer-by’s benefit. When the group has moved on he pulls away, but not immediately. Maybe he was enjoying it.

“Why are you not terrified of me? Are you some kind of vampire groupie? Do you want me to turn you, is that it?”

“No,” I squeak. “I don’t want you to turn me. It’s complicated, like I said before. I know you, and you know me.”

“I’m sorry, love but I’ve never seen you before in my life, until the other night at the train station. I remember you from there. You looked like you’d seen ghost.” He smirked as he  must have been recalling the look of shock on my face when I had first seen him.

I blush at the thought of what must have been a slack jawed, wide eyed expression on my face that night. He chuckles at my discomfort and steps away again, tugging me after him. “Not far now. I’m looking forward to this story of yours.”

In the next street we leave the footpath, passing between two buildings to the space behind. He pulls me into the shadows, down a set of stairs where I stumble in the darkness. We pause momentarily at the bottom of the stairs where I can hear William opening a door. There isn’t enough light for me to see anything and I step forward hesitantly. Suddenly, light fills the room as William switches a lamp on. I blink repeatedly waiting for my eyes to adjust. The scene around me takes shape. It’s a room built under someone’s house. There doesn’t appear to be any windows so I guess this is where he stays when the sun comes up.

“Do you rent this room?”

William looks at me momentarily, before letting out a snort of laughter. He obviously finds my question amusing. My cheeks colour as I realise the naivety of my question. “The owners are dead, aren’t they?”

“Quite dead.” He states matter-of-factly. “But, they were tasty! And, when I found out what a prime piece of real estate they owned, so close to the city, I couldn’t let it go to waste.” He plonks himself down on the nearby bed propping his head up on his hand. With his other hand he pats the bed beside him. “What about that story, pet?”

I step towards the bed hesitantly, hoping my legs keep working. I look around the room. This could be the last place I see. My eyes move to William, lying relaxed and outstretched on the bed. He could be the last thing I see. Suddenly, I feel the bed beneath my hands. I don’t remember crossing the floor from where I had been standing. As I crawl onto the mattress beside William he moves over slightly, making more room. This should feel wrong, dangerous. I just feel home.

A sultry look enters his eyes, “So,” he croons, as he reaches out, tracing a line lightly with his fingertips down my arm. “Why were you following me?”

“You know me, William.” His hand closes around my wrist, where it rests on my hip. I watch as if paralysed as he moves my wrist towards his mouth. His face changes, creases, as his now pointed teeth sink into my skin. My heart races. I now know fear, what I should have been feeling from the very beginning. A whimper escapes my lips as he pulls my hand away and licks the droplets of blood flowing from the puncture wounds.

“Call me Spike, pet. No one calls me William anymore. No one alive, that is.” His face is once again human. “I don’t know you. So, where did you learn about me? You’re not a slayer. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be lying her with me,” he muses.

“No, nothing like that.” Fear and a little frustration makes my tone brusque. I take a deep breath and begin.

“I was with you at the party the night you were changed, Wil.. Spike. I followed you into the stables where Drusilla made you a vampire.” The words rush from me now I can finally get them out. I wanted to stop her…”

Spike grabs me, hard, the distorted face of the demon staring at me with yellow eyes, his lips curled back in anger, baring his teeth. “I’m telling the truth! I’m telling the truth! Why would I lie?” I scream.

“You are going to die. I thought I might have some fun with you first,” eluding to his caresses from before, “But now…I’m going to eat you!” He launches at me, teeth tearing into the flesh of my throat.

“It was a past life!” I gasp. Spike releases his bite on my throat. I can feel the blood trickling down my back with each pulse of my heart. “This is not the first time I’ve lived, we’ve lived.” I search desperately back through my memories of my past life when William was human. “I know what you’re thinking. This is all in the history books about you. I could have read about that party. The books don’t tell what Cecily said to you when you announced your love for her. I heard what she said to you.” I stop. This could get me killed despite it being the truth. The look on Spike’s face about my choice of subject to convince him is warning enough. Thinking quickly over my options, I decide on a different approach. “I heard what Drusilla said to you, before she turned you in the stables. She used the same words you’d spoken in your poetry for Cecily.”

Spike looks at me, expressionless, “What words?”

My breath is coming in gasps at my panic. What was the word? “Eff… eff…” What’s the damn word? “Effulgent! Something effulgent, that’s what she said! I heard the words, something effulgent, then she asked if you wanted it. You said yes, then she bit you.”

Spike looks a little shocked. I rush on while he’s not trying to eat me.

“You won’t remember your past lives. People aren’t meant to. I don’t know why I do. All I know is that in every life I can remember I’m with you…Or, at least, I know you.”

“I’m sorry , love. I hate to burst your love bubble for the Big Bad, but I didn’t know you back then.” Despite his words Spike’s interest still seems piqued.

“It doesn’t matter. For whatever the reason, here we are again.” I place my hand on his chest, fingertips touching his cool skin exposed at the vee in his shirt, my heart drumming in  my chest.  “There’s something drawing me to you. I don’t know if you feel it too. I don’t know if you can, now you’re a…vampire.” I have nothing to lose, I decide I’m not going to die this time without telling him how I feel. “I have loved you before, in these past lives, known every part of you.” I look into Spike’s eyes, trying to convey the intensity of my memories. “ Let me know what it’s like; what having you feels like. I’ve dreamed it before, so many times, just once I want to know the real thing, before I die, this time.” I smirk at my own personal joke.

My fingers find his shirt hem and start to move it up his torso, exposing the contoured muscles beneath. “I love yo…..” Before I can finish the sentence, Spike’s face becomes that of the demon as he lunges, sinking his teeth deep into the already damaged flesh of my neck. Blood gushes from the gaping holes, my life-force pumping, with every heartbeat, down his throat.

With the last thump, Spike pulls away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “ You talk too much!”


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 - Spike’s POV

 

 

My insides; my very soul, is on fire. My soul! A weight I have not felt in over a century forces me slowly, backwards, to the dirt of the cave. Where I knelt back on my heels only moments ago, my legs now splay either side of my torso like broken chicken wings. I am being crushed by my soul’s immenseness. I hear my own sobbing intake of breath, despite the knowledge I don’t need to breathe, as memories of all the deeds I have ever committed as the self-proclaimed Big Bad come rushing in like waves filling holes in the sand. There is a sound; I can’t quite make out where it’s coming from. It seems to be a distant, tortured sound. Not so distant, it’s the sound of me screaming. I can’t seem to make it stop; make the hurt stop.

What have I done??

The grit of the cave floor powders in my fists. Forcing myself over onto my side, I manage to draw my hands and knees under me. I lay still, my head resting on the dry gritty floor, waiting for the screams and the memories to subside. Time passes inexorably but immeasurably. The sea of visions of blood and death at my hands and my teeth wash over me in waves. The kids outside The Bronze, the slayer in Beijing…..the slayer…Oh, God! Buffy! What I did to you; tried to do to you! The sounds, sights and smells of my remembered victims crashed over me again, dragging me down with them to the depths of hell.

The moon shines icy and blue upon the desert. Long shadows creep across the sparse landscape and into the cave entrance like murky wraiths as I emerge from the mouth of the cave on hands and knees. I find myself blinking, not sure how I got here. The images still flicker before my eyes but the screaming has subsided. My screaming. The weight in my chest, in the very centre of my being, burns still; pulling me down, making it almost impossible to move. The tortured screams and pleadings of my victims of over a century rouse feelings of excitement, lust, joy only to tangle and gradually be engulfed by the all-encompassing sun that now resides within me: my soul. The pleasure and pain, simultaneously rejoicing and loathing my actions to the point of despair, is slowly tearing my mind apart.

The world around me loses all meaning as the memories wash over me again like a storm-swept sea swamping a hapless fishing vessel, dragging it down to the dark cold depths of insanity.

Somewhere, deep within my subconscious, self-preservation must still exist. The desire to survive forcing limbs to work of their own accord, carrying me stumbling and blind across the desert. The sun would rise soon. Should I not just stop and wait for it? I could do the world a favour and rid it of one more soulless demon. But, I was no longer soulless, was I? Where did I fit in the world of good and evil? Did I have a place?

A deeper dark than the night settled on the horizon marking the approaching dawn. Without obvious thought my subconscious took over, deciding that my survival was indeed necessary. Hands and arms worked in a frenzy digging beneath the desert sand to a depth the sun’s rays and heat would not reach me. Once in the precariously dug trench thrashing limbs brought the sides down upon me. Ensconced in my makeshift grave the visions once again taking possession of my mind; memories of blood and terror leading me to a tortured sleep where joy and endless suffering become one emotion.

A face, the beautiful, unassuming face of someone I once knew floats across my vision-wracked mind. _Essie._ Yes, I believe that was her name. She would frequent the parties I attended while still human. Her warm smile always at the ready when I looked her way. Why would I be thinking about her? I hadn’t killed her. Hadn’t even seen her since the night I was turned. Before I could grasp the meaning or even grasp the vision for any length of time my mind moved on to its next torture. The day - or was it days – continued in scattered memories. I have no concept of time here in my sand cocoon. When I emerge will I be reborn and resplendent?

These thoughts are whipped away by another memory. The night I had killed the slayer on the subway train there had been another victim, a young woman, very pretty, beautiful even. Her face the vision of innocence and longing as she told me she loved me. Loved me! The idea was ludicrous so I had killed her; torn her throat out as she had tried to finish telling me a story about past lives. Hers and mine. Her face began to fade being replaced by the next in the succession of faces I had been seeing since my soul had returned. I braced myself, waiting. The sun-like heat and weight of its existence flared suddenly, causing a fresh scream to issue from my throat. Instead of fading and moving on to the next vision as had been the pattern, the girl’s face remained ghost-like, as if her image was seared into my mind’s eye. Another image manifested and the two images floated together overlapping. As the two faces came together they became one. The same person. How can two women, obviously different ages and nearly 100 years apart look so similar? My soul flares again at the memories as if reaching out to them. It is all too new, too confusing. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

Oblivion faded slowly as the moon’s cooling rays lit the sand in which I lay. I must have slept deeply for a time beyond the reach of the visions, the torture of these memories returning once I woke; torture due to the duplicitous nature of the memories. The joy and pleasure I felt in performing the acts and the guilt that now wracked me at their heinous nature. 

Fighting my way out of the hastily dug temporary grave, I crawled along the sand’s surface and rose shakily to my feet. Fresh visions of past deeds floated inexorably to the surface on the current of my soul sun’s heat. Occasionally, one I had already relived would resurface. With these the flame was not as intense but painful none the less. I wonder, will there be a time when all my memories will feel as these; excruciating but survivable? Could I continue to live – if that is what I have been doing for the past one hundred odd years – or would the weight of my soul finally crush me from existence? Had Angel not survived? He who had his soul forced upon him as punishment. Cursed to live without love, a moment’s true happiness would once again rending him of his soul and reverting him to the evil thing he once was.

I could know such happiness! I was not cursed, I had freely sought that which would make me whole again. Oh, but the pain of that wholeness. Is this what I had wanted, what I’d sought in that cursed cave? It didn’t matter now. I had it; my soul! Could I be what I needed, what Buffy needed?

Buffy. I called to mind her face, pouted lips hinting at the sadness, the loneliness and focused conviction held within that tiny, powerful frame. Her blonde hair falling to her shoulders, framing her delicate features. As I concentrated on the slope of her nose, the cupids bow of her top lip, trying to focus my will, using Buffy as my beacon back to reality; to sanity, her features faded, distorting as they metamorphosed into the face of another. I felt love for Buffy, my heart swelling with the thought of her. Why? Why was her face replaced with another causing the sun within my core to pulse and vibrate; to reach out? The woman in my memory was the one who looked so much like someone I had known – should have known – from my life as a human. The thought was curious. Why should I have known her? All the while my soul tugs and strains towards an unknown destination, seemingly agitated by the thought of this woman, and the younger one many years later who could have been her twin. So close, she’d been so close to being mine and I’d killed her. My what? What would she have been? My soul tugged and danced within me. I absently scratched at the skin above my heart, trying to quiet it without success. I couldn’t fathom the connection.

One foot shuffled forward, then the other, moving of their own volition. Slowly, inexorably, I begin my journey…. home.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 

This thing is big! And strong! That last blow just about knocked me on my arse. I swing the wooden staff at its knees, well I guess they are knees, and duck under the oncoming arm with protruding serrated spikes. With each blow traded I am managing to manoeuvre the demon into the blind alley from which there will be no escape – for one of us. With a running jump I use the nearby wall as leverage, propelling myself up the wall to launch with a backflip into the alley behind the creature, into its blind spot. With quick successive blows to its abdomen I finally see a suggestion of pain in its countenance. I take advantage of this pause to deliver a heavy upper cut with the end of my staff just under the creature’s chin causing it to stagger back a couple of steps further into the alley towards the dead end.

The demon is fast and cunning. Not so smart, maybe. I have been able to back it into a corner. But, I realise that I won’t be able to use that move with the wall again. It’s aware of it now and will be ready next time. I hope my reinforcements show up soon. This thing is learning all my moves, and fast.

I sense the presence behind me before I hear anything and step aside ready to face the attack, staff moving towards its target as I turn. A dark hand grasps the end of the wooden shaft on its downward swing preventing it from hitting home.

“Damn girl! What’s with the moves?” The chocolate skin of my new assailant gleams in the weak light of the nearby street lamp.

“Charles Gunn! It’s about damn time. What took you so long?” Finally, backup has arrived. In the assumed attack I have taken my attention away from my original foe, who, by this time, has shaken off the effects of my last blow and is now advancing on my exposed flank. Sensing its movements I begin to turn into the attack when an English voice rings out from somewhere behind Gunn. “Watch out!”

The blow is glancing, just contacting the skin across my ribs as I jump back. Gunn takes this as his cue and steps into the fray. With two against one, especially when one is Gunn, the fight doesn’t last much longer. The creature is cornered, fighting on two fronts. When I swing high at the demon’s head, Gunn goes in low knocking its legs out from under it. I cry out to Gunn to  keep his distance from the spikes protruding from its forearms as they contain a toxin. This makes taking the killing blow a little more dangerous and difficult, but between us we succeed. With the demon off balance I am able to distract it with repeated blows to abdomen and chest. As it lowers its arms to protect against the rapid-fire hits, Gunn thrusts the blade he wields through the demon’s throat, severing its spinal cord.

As the body crumples to the ground the blade slides free with a steely whisper. Charles and I look at each other for a moment before slapping palms together in a high five. Before he knows what hit him I throw my arms around his neck in the rough embrace of long absent friends. As his arms encircle my torso I feel the twinge of the injury I had received from the demon and wince before I can cover my discomfort.

“Are you alright? Were you hurt?” The Englishman’s well-bred voice asks with a note of concern. Hastily disentangling myself from Gunn’s long, muscular arms, I turn towards the voice to face its owner. The face that greets me is handsome, with a covering of stubble across his strongly sculpted chin, piercing eyes looking intently from behind half-rimmed glasses, strong brows drawn together.

“Well, hello Cambridge,” the comment slips from my lips before my brain can rein in its enthusiasm for the handsome man in front of me. I notice the piles of dust near-by. The noise of the fight must have drawn the local undead, three of which he has dispatched single-handedly. He was watching our backs, most effectively it seems.

Before I can express my sincere thanks he stutters, “Ah, n-no. Not Cambridge, I’m afraid.” Self-deprecating, he glances towards the ground before looking up at me again, eyes intense. I blush at my own rudeness – and those eyes. Damn, they’re distracting, I could lose myself in that gaze. I suddenly realise I must have been staring and blush harder. It’s the effects of the fight, I convince myself. My blood is up from the thrill of the battle.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. Sometimes my mouth speaks before my brain is in gear. It’s not an accent you expect to hear in an alley so late at night, with a dead demon at your feet.” Once again my mouth has left the building without the benefits of its driver, my brain. I shake my head weakly, extending my hand in greeting. Charles finally intercedes to introduce us, trying unsuccessfully to keep the smirk from his face.

Turning to the Englishman, “Wesley, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine, Trinity Evans. Trinity, this is Wesley…” Before Gunn can finish his introductions Wesley reaches out to take my extended hand in an enthusiastic grip, shaking it firmly.

“Wesley Wyndham-Price. It’s lovely to meet you.” His smile softens the intense look of his features, his white teeth gleaming in the weak light.

“Likewise.” My smile responds to his. But the enthusiastic shaking is causing my injured ribs to object and I wince reflexively. Wesley’s smile fades.

“You are hurt.” He moves the weapon he carries out of the way to approach me with the intent of inspecting my injury. Even in that small movement, I can appreciate his obvious skill at arms. He moves with the unassuming confidence of a well-practiced fighter, the weapon becoming an extension of his own body. He catches me staring at him again and pauses momentarily in his advance. I drop my gaze, looking up again quickly to smile at him. “I’m fine, really. Just a bruise. A hot shower and decent meal and I’ll be better than new and ready to go at it again,” I laugh.

I turn to Gunn, “I like your new crew. Got any more?” I slap Charles on the back, turning to leave the alley, and place my hand lightly on Wesley’s arm to let him know the joke isn’t at his expense. The colour rises briefly in Wesley’s cheeks. Is it from the touch or my comment? The touch had been fleeting but maybe he wasn’t used to being touched in this manner? Curiosity about this English monster fighter increased at this thought. Damn this adrenalin rush. It always leaves me… toey.

“So,” I asked, more as a means of distraction from my carnal thoughts than curiosity, “where’s home these days? I’m starving!” I glance sideways at Wesley. Yes, I definitely have an appetite.

We make our way back to the car Gunn and Wesley had arrived in. My eyebrows raise slightly at the late model Mustang Gunn has just unlocked as he curls into the driver’s seat. What happened to the beat-up pickup with wooden spikes arrayed on the bonnet?

“Up-graded , I see.” The question of how and why hangs between us unanswered as we begin our drive back to their new headquarters. The buildings are becoming more commercial-looking with upmarket apartment blocks thrown in between for good measure. Suddenly the car slows and Gunn steers it into the driveway of a large steel, concrete and glass building then proceeds slowly into the underground carpark. I manage to glimpse a huge sign at the front of the building, _Wolfram & Hart, _as we descend into the bowels of the building.

“Curious-er and curious-er,” I mutter under my breath.

Gunn glances back at me in the rearview mirror. “It’s a long story,” he says, with an apologetic half smile.

“Hmmph. Good thing I have time,” I mutter, staring in awe at the array of cars in the basement.

                  ************************************

 

The wine slides down my throat with ease, its quality obvious. I comment on it to Gunn and Wesley who are having dinner with me. I look around the room we occupy. It’s not like any law firm I’ve ever seen, I reflect. The table is set complete with crisp, white linen tablecloth, sterling silver cutlery and an array of glasses and plates to cater for the various courses of food and drink of which we have just partaken. I feel contentedly full for the first time in a long time. Hunting monsters on the streets of L.A. is dirty, lonely, dangerous and not particularly lucrative.

I had showered in the room I had been allotted before dinner. What law firm has apartments and motel-like suites within the premises? I wasn’t complaining, mind you. It was the best damn shower I’d had in longer than I cared to remember. Plus, the soap and shampoo products provided smelled amazing! Given use of the facilities I took full advantage, shaving, plucking and primping my way back to womanhood. I was pleased with my efforts as I slathered the luxurious moisturiser over the sculpted muscles of my calves, smoothing and massaging as I went. I slipped into the clean clothes that had miraculously appeared in my room while I had been in the bathroom. They were my size and a perfect fit, even my style. Well, the style I was sure I would have if I wasn’t fighting monsters and living on the streets. I smiled ruefully at my thoughts.

A slight chill passed up my spine. It was a little too uncanny how the unseen “staff” of the firm knew so much about me. Evil, multi-dimensional law firm, indeed. 

When I finally emerged from my room and found my way to the dining area, Charles and Wesley were already there. Wesley was pouring himself a drink at the bar. The amber liquid had an almost oily quality as it swirled around the base of the crystal tumbler. I surmised it to be straight Scotch. At that moment both men noticed my presence at the door. With a little satisfaction I heard their twin intake of breath at the changed person in front of them. I strolled towards Wesley who quickly took control of himself and offered me a drink.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” I stated. He paused a moment, glancing from his glass to me, but said nothing as he reached for another crystal tumbler. I took a sip of the offered amber liquid and released a satisfied sigh as the warmth slid down my throat to creep from my stomach outwards to my extremities.

“Wow, that’s good,” I whispered after my second sip, my eyes still closed in pleasure. I broke from my reverie opening my eyes to the amused stares of my two handsome hosts. Wesley’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corner in response to my appreciation of his chosen drink. We sat in the lounges provided at one end of the room, chatting idly, Gunn and Wes sharing anecdotes of their adventures together, how they met and how they ended up running a law firm that happened to be the epitome of evil.

Finally, dinner was served and conversation ceased until appetites were at least partially sated. I swallow my remaining mouthful of the third course and broach the subject I had been avoiding to this point. “So, Gunn. You mentioned that you were part of a… what? Paranormal Investigations firm? Before you took over Evil Incarnate?” I waved my hand around indicating our surroundings.

“Yep, helping the helpless and all that.” He puffs slightly with pride.

“Were you the head honcho?” I ask, supressing my smirk.

“Oh, hell no! That’d be Angel,” he answers.

“Angel? Interesting name. Who’s she when she’s at home?” My pulse quickens at the name. I hope I have managed to hide the shudder that runs through me. I have heard of Angel. The vampire with a soul. I wonder where he might be. Both Wesley and Gunn laugh at my seeming incorrect assumption at Angel’s gender, explaining that she is, in fact, a he, and is also not here at the moment, being called away on business. He will, however, be returning in a day or two. Something to look forward to, I muse.

Wesley pushes his chair away from the dinner table, gracefully rising to his feet to excuse himself. “It has been a big day and I think I shall head to bed. Goodnight everyone.” His gaze lingers on me, eyes penetrating. Is he responding to my earlier flirtations in the alley? My heart skips a beat at the thought. The need for release after the stressful and Adrenalin-fuelled encounter of this afternoon still simmers under the surface of the civilised conversation and relaxed, incredibly delicious meal in which I had just partaken. It once again flares to life, its flush creeping up my neck to colour my cheeks.

Gunn and I remain, sipping wine and reminiscing about this and that. He tells me a little more about his work now and how it’s the far cry from where he’d started; when we last knew each other. At last, I think enough time has passed between Wesley going to bed and me excusing myself to do the same, to make the two seem unconnected. I give Gunn a peck on the cheek and leave the room to find my way back to the accommodation wing. Gunn is a handsome man but our relationship is like that of siblings. Family. The idea of using him to alleviate my pent-up frustrations seems wrong somehow, and he’s never hinted at any desire either. However, I still don’t want to rub my attraction for Wesley in his face. It doesn’t seem right somehow, hence the subterfuge.

My musings are interrupted as a strong hand grabs my arm, yanking me from the hallway into a darkened room. A single candle glows weakly on a table at the other side of the room. The squeal of fright wedged in my throat is stifled by another strong hand - the mate to the one that has pulled me, rather inelegantly, into the room - placed firmly across my mouth. A firm, warm body presses me against the wall, giving little leeway in my struggle to regain my freedom and voice my objections to this man-handling.

The pressure of his hips against mine becomes more insistent. A familiar, intoxicating smell reaches my senses. A mixture of subtle men’s deodorant and high quality scotch. A quiet voice murmurs in my ear, “We don’t want you waking the neighbours.”

Wesley removes his hand as soon as I cease my struggles. The pressure of his body against mine remains constant. I can feel his state of arousal. I look up into those intense, green eyes. “That may still happen,” I tease suggestively.

The kiss takes me by surprise. His need seems to match my own. There’s a sense of desperation in his embrace, his lips, tongue and teeth all testing me, testing  my resolve. I respond in kind, eager to get to know him better.

With me pinned, my back hard against the wall and him hard against me I begin to claw at his clothing, ripping buttons from his shirt in my haste to remove it. My leg is wrapped behind his thighs pulling him harder against me. There are too many obstructions, too many clothes in our way.

Wesley leans back suddenly, breaking the embrace. I wonder momentarily if I have done something wrong, stepped over some invisible line, but he pulls me with him away from the wall. Turning my back towards the bed, he reaches behind me to the nape of my neck where the zipper tab of my  dress is located. We edge further into the room with abortive steps. Shoes, shirt, pants and dress discarded at each step towards the bed. When the mattress nudges me in the calves, Wesley lowers me onto it but stands above me for a moment, eyes tracing my curves. Clad only in my underwear I lie back, taking the opportunity to admire my view of him. The single candle still flickers on the dresser reflecting off his pale skin. His complexion is so English, but that’s where the stereotype ends. Lean, hard muscles flex under his milky skin, the candle light giving him the appearance of a marble sculpture. He is an athlete; a warrior. Becoming aware of his eyes watching me intently as I scan his physique, I sit up slowly, reaching behind to carefully remove my bra, and throw it towards the heap of clothes already strewn across the floor. I reach towards Wesley, gently taking his hand to coax him onto the bed. He obliges, sinewy movements like a cat bringing him level with me on the bed. His fingers trace lines up my thigh, following the contour of my hip, along the dip of my waist to my ribs. His feather-light touch brings goose bumps to my flesh as his palm cups my breast, brushing gently over my nipple, making it stand hard against him. His hand is quickly replaced by his mouth, tongue flicking, teeth teasing the hardened, aroused bud. His hand then travels slowly down over the gentle curve of my stomach to cup the heated, damp mound between my thighs, fingertips massaging gently. Powerless to resist his gentle but insistent coaxing my back arches in response, pressing my aroused flesh into his hand. The urgent desire and what could be described as desperation I sensed in both of us is still there, simmering under the surface of this new-found control. I realise Wes is making sure I am with him, at the same level. Not just aroused, but ready, wanting. Oh, baby! I’m there.

“You are a dark horse,” I murmur, nibbling his ear. “Kiss me!” He obliges passionately. It’s the type of kiss that takes your breath away; makes you forget where you are, who you are. I feel his arousal pressing into my inner thigh. The last of our remaining clothing discarded, the coupling is fast, urgent. Forceful, yet not controlling. On the few rare moments I regain my senses, I look into his face, his eyes, intense. His kiss and thrust, demanding full attention, quickly steal my senses again, taking away any notion of time or surroundings.

We lie in the dark, limbs still entangled, breath slowly resuming its normal pace. I idly trace patterns through the sparse hairs on his chest with my fingers. Neither one of us wanting to break the spell that still lingers between us by speaking. I nuzzle his throat just below his ear, planting small kisses on the pulse I find there, beating strong and steady. Wesley turns his head towards me and I move to meet his lips, kisses tender and gentle to begin, becoming more demanding and wanting.

This time there is no making sure I’m ready for him. He rolls onto me, pressing my thighs apart with his knees, then slowly and deliberately, he enters me. A gasp escapes me at the sensation. All at once I feel possessed and freed at the same time. I rock my hips up to meet his thrusts, lost in the rhythm. The pressure inside me builds with each stroke, pulsing and throbbing. Unable to contain myself any longer I cry out, again and again. A strong hand snakes into my hair at the base of my skull closing roughly into a fist, pulling my head back slightly. The awareness of this subtle pain, caused by Wesley’s firm grasp pulling my hair, heightens the sensations between my hips. My back arches off the bed. Waves of ecstasy roll over me, leaving me breathless and disoriented. Wesley slows for a moment letting me regain my senses before resuming his motions, a look of achievement on his face. Like that, is it? I think. Well, two can play at that game.

I push against him, forcing Wesley to roll over. I continue the movement until I look down at him from where he was a moment ago. Resuming the motions, slowly at first but building momentum, I lean back slightly to feel more of him inside me. I rock, grinding against him, wanting more of him; all of him. Under me he thrusts upwards, harder and faster, increasing our rhythm. I feel a shudder run through him. He’s so close now. Suddenly he sits up so I’m straddling him. I bear down upon him, taking his face in my hands, kissing his responsive lips forcefully. He grasps my hips pulling me against him as he thrusts harder. With a final gasping cry Wesley finds his release, head falling forward to rest against my shoulder. The last few shudders run through his body as we hold each other, breathing ragged but slowing.

                                                                ************************

The morning light streams through the window between the curtains. I try to roll away but meet an obstruction. A fleshy, warm, rather pleasant-feeling obstruction. I twist on the spot, turning onto my side, casually draping my arm across Wesley’s torso, enjoying the sensual feeling of skin against skin as my body presses down the length of his. He turns towards me slightly and runs his hand up the curves of my body. “Good morning,” he smiles, in his well-educated English manner.

In its travels, his hand reaches the area on my ribs where yesterday’s Demon had delivered its glancing blow. I wince. What I thought had been little more than a bruise seems like it may be more serious. Wesley sees my reaction as the colour drains slightly from my face. He throws back the covers to have a closer look at the site of the injury. I look down twisting slightly to be able to get a better view. The area is slightly raised, a thin red line through the centre. At closer inspection the red line is puckered with tiny crystalline spheres along its edges. The demon’s spikey protrusions must have just nicked the surface of my skin. The toxin. I look up into Wesley’s eyes, the colour draining completely from my face.

“Oh, shit!” I squeak.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

 

Wesley, Gunn and I are congregated in Wesley’s Archives room. He sits behind the massive timber desk pouring over volumes of ancient and not-so-ancient texts, while Gunn sits in a nearby winged armchair watching me pace the length of the room. We’ve been here for hours. Discarded teacups, coffee mugs and remnants of breakfast lie strewn on various tables and surfaces around the room. My breakfast remains untouched, congealed eggs cold and greasy-looking. I hope someone comes soon to clear it away. The smell and sight of it are making me feel nauseous. I forcefully swallow the bile that is rising in my throat and close my eyes, turning away from the offensive plate to resume my pacing.

“Yes….yes. I think this may be it,” Wesley says with subdued enthusiasm. No point getting too excited, I guess, at least until we know what we’re dealing with. I stop in my tracks at the sound of his voice. Breath held, waiting for the verdict.

“What you faced yesterday was a Lazzariss Demon, I believe. At least, it fits the description best,” Wesley continued, glancing up at me, eyes slightly crinkled in an encouraging half-smile. He turns the book around to show me the illustration.

“Oh, that’s the ugly sucker alright!” I exclaim, shuddering at the sight of the image in the book. The all-too fresh memories play before my eyes, as my companions die horribly once more. “I’ve had…friends who have died after fighting this thing.” I blanch at the knowledge that, without some form of miracle, this will soon be me. “It’s a horrible way to go.

“I was tracking it… after….after I’d seen to their funerals.” I explain, looking at Gunn. “That’s when I called you.” The reality of my situation is proving harder to voice than I could have imagined. It is one thing to know what will happen; to have seen it happen to another person, but to say it out loud?

I swallow loudly, gathering my courage to continue. “Don’t let me go like that. I don’t want to die like they did, as nothing more that rabid animals.” A shudder passes through me. “You must kill me before it gets to that stage. Promise me!” I look from Gunn to Wesley gravely, waiting for their acknowledgement of my requested promise. Both are shocked at my demand. Gunn stands, wrapping his long arms around me, holding me tight in acceptance of my morbid request. I know he can do it, will do it. He dusted his own sister when she was turned into a vampire several years ago. I could trust Gunn.

I pull away from the warm embrace, taking a deep breath to curb the tears needling the corners of my eyes. I look to Wesley. His face is set in an expression of grim determination. He looks into my face earnestly, hesitating for just a second, before he nods his assent. “It won’t come to that,” he declares. “This text may not divulge a cure but there will be other texts, other sources of information. We’ll find a way to stop this.” He takes my hand briefly and gives it a firm, reassuring squeeze. “I’ll get my team onto it, straight away.” He picks up the phone and murmurs orders to the person on the receiving end of the call. “….postpone all non-urgent investigations….everyone you can spare on this….Just do it! I’ll deal with Angel when he gets back.” He slams the phone down before the unseen recipient can broach any more arguments.

A movement in the doorway to Wesley’s office catches my eye as a voice resounds through the room. “Deal with me, how, Wesley?” A tall, solidly built man in a dark suit stands in the doorway appearing to fill it with his presence. His shirt is open at the neck showing a hint of the muscular chest beneath its tailored lines.

Still as sexy as hell, I muse. “Angelus!” I advance on his statue-like form. He seems frozen, his mouth slightly open in bewildered horror. I stride towards him as though approaching a long lost friend, throwing my arms around his neck and planting a firm kiss on his unresponsive lips.

“Wh….” He stares at me as if he’s seen a ghost. I guess he has really. “You’re dead.” He struggles to piece together what’s happening in front of him.

I hear Wesley whispering under his breath to Gunn. “She certainly has an effect on people,” as they lean towards each other conspiratorially.

Gunn responds, “I never knew vampires could actually lose colour like that,” glancing at Angel’s deathly white visage. Angel’s mouth sets in a hard line, his eyes turn, glaring at Wesley and Gunn, demanding no further comment on the matter. His eyes return to me. I have removed my arms from around his neck and taken a step back. He remains motionless, piercing eyes fixed on me, as if waiting for me to speak. I feel I must say something to break the tension. I haven’t a clue where to even start.

Wesley breaks the silence before I can say anything. “Angel, I only meant I would let you kn…..”

“I want to hear from her,” Angel interrupts, giving Wes a look that demands silence.

“ Yes, I suppose I would be dead, to you.” The hint of an English accent sneaking through the West Coast American. “She is dead, of course. I’m not her – yet, I am.” I shake my head at my rather abortive and cryptic attempt at an explanation. With a sigh, “It’s a very long story.”

“I have time,” Angel answers coolly.

“I don’t think I do,” I answer resignedly. The smell of the discarded breakfast reaches me in wafts, churning my stomach. Wesley must have noticed me turning slightly green around the gills and suggests we all retire to more comfortable surroundings and possibly a stiff drink or two. Gunn seems relieved at the idea while Angel hesitates for a moment before suggesting his office as the best place to continue our conversation. Being the boss has some perks; a lockable door and no chance of interruptions once the staff have been informed of the do-not-disturb situation.

The big door closes with a sound of finality. I take the offered glass of whiskey and take a large gulp, coughing reflexively on its fumes as they burn their way down my throat to my empty stomach. I take a deep breath and begin.

I look at Angel a moment, scanning his stormy features. “ You’re different to when I knew you; when she knew you, I mean. When I was Essie. You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You used to be so free, unburdened,” I can’t help adding, “alive,” with some irony.

“I was evil, soulless. It provided an illusion of freedom,” was all he said in response. I decide not to pursue this anymore. I take another fortifying sip of my whiskey before continuing.

“I know you, and a lot more too - even though the woman you knew is dead - because I remember my past lives.” Speaking to everyone now, “This is why Angel thought he recognised me; thought I was Essie, who is most definitely dead. I look virtually the same in each life. This time, though, is different. In my past lives I wasn’t born knowing my history. I would gain snippets of information, through dreams mostly, that would lead me to search for information and someone; a man,” I look quickly at Angel who grimaces at the memory of just who I was searching for the night he first met me – met Essie. No love lost there, I think wryly. From the Watchers journal I (Becky) had discovered in the 70’s, I understood that Angel and Spike had a rather tumultuous relationship, to say the least.

I see out of the corner of my eye Gunn glance quickly at Angel an eyebrow raised quizzically. I assume he thinks this man I mentioned might be Angel. I have never spoken to Gunn of my past. This is the first he is hearing any of this. For the time we had run together in his crew, he hadn’t pried into my reasons for wanting to hunt vampires, demons and monsters. I guess he had figured I would tell him when I was ready. I trusted Gunn with my life, but I wasn’t certain even he wouldn’t question my sanity if I had told him everything. With his hate for vampires, I was a little surprised he now considered one, especially one with such a gruesome and notorious history, a close ally; friend, even. I guess a soul really does make all the difference.

“I have been killed many times throughout history,” I continue, “mostly at the hands of vampires, in my pursuit for answers, and for ….” Here goes. “….Spike.” A sudden coughing fit explodes from across the room as Gunn chokes on his drink. He splutters and coughs, trying to wipe the liquid from the front of his shirt and the table in front of him where it had spurted from his nostrils. Wesley, suddenly struck with the need to tidy, starts shuffling papers and books around on the edge of Angel’s desk. A quick scowl from Angel soon halts the action. That popular, huh? I muse. “Oh, boy!” I mutter under my breath.

Wesley speaks before I can continue. “If you were to die then, you could come back. If the pattern holds true, of course. I would have to do some research,” he pauses in thought, excitement building at the possibility my wound may not be as fatal as first assumed. Well, as permanently fatal, anyway. I hope with all my heart he’s right, but something deep inside me says otherwise.

Angel finally speaks. “You said this time is different?” as if reading my thoughts.

“Yes. This time I remember everything, know everything. All my previous lives are with me, in here,” I confirm, tapping my head. “It’s as if they are all my life; one life. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track of past and present, you know? There’s a finality about it, don’t you think?” And that was it, the crux of the matter. Without fully understanding reincarnation, I sensed that I had reached my time. Whatever I was meant to achieve within my allotted lives must come to pass now, or never would. It’s time I faced the truth.

“I’ve missed something,” Angel states, shaking his head in confusion. “Finality to what?”

“My life,” I answer, keeping as much emotion out of my voice as possible. “I’m dying.

“I don’t know why I’m here, why I’ve lived so many lives, why I remember any of it. I thought I did. I believed for a long time I was destined to be with one man; James. You made me question my beliefs.” I look squarely at Angel. “I was prepared to run away with you, to terrorize Europe with you. You had opened my eyes to new possibilities and made me question everything in which I thought I believed.

“He killed me, you know?” still looking into Angel’s dark eyes. “Spike. He tore my throat out the night he killed the second slayer in New York City. I was seventeen. I was a virgin.” I spoke the last quietly, not looking up. “ I wasn’t going to let that happen again this time.” From under my lashes I could see Wesley turning red. He may not have been my first, but he may well be my last. And what a way to go out, I sigh, smiling to myself.

My injured side twinges, as if reminding me of why we are all here in the first place. I recoil slightly at the twinge, trying not to pull a face at my discomfort. Wesley sees my move and starts to take a step towards me then thinks better of it. Angel sees the movement too.

I continue hastily, focusing again on Angel. “Yesterday, Gunn and I brought down a demon in an alley a few blocks from here. It’s the reason I’m here, the reason I am sharing my story with you. I’m dying. The demon has spines on its forearms that contain a toxin. A neurotoxin would be the best way to describe it.” I look quickly to Wesley for confirmation at my description. He nods once. “ The toxin eats away at a person’s psyche, their humanity, and finally their soul, until they become mindless killers with an insatiable appetite for blood. I’ve seen it happen to other hunters who’ve come up against them.” I raise my shirt exposing the reddened area on my ribs. The toxin has spread. Fine purple lines under the skin are trailing away from the site, the blood vessels marking its passage.

I drop my shirt, arms by my sides. I suddenly feel very tired, like I could sleep for a week. I don’t think I have the energy left to lift my glass to my lips and drink the remaining whiskey.

I look again at Angel, speaking in earnest. “I have Gunn’s and Wesley’s promise that they are prepared to end my life when the time comes. You can end my life or give me something else. A final chance at life. When the time comes, Angel, Would you turn me – if I asked?”

“No!” Wesley’s horrified exclamation rings out across the room, echoed by Angel’s and Gunn’s very definitive refusal. A fourth voice joins the chorus, the anguished sound drowning all others. All eyes turn towards the door of Angel’s office to see the crumpled form on his knees, black leather coat splayed around him, blond hair spiking between long fingers of pale hands, his face contorted in unimaginable pain and confusion.

Spike.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

 

I look at the crumpled, blithering mess in the doorway before looking back at my companions in the room, announcing, “It’s been a long day, I’m going to bed. Goodnight, everyone.” I turn on my heels and leave the room before anyone can raise an objection.

I close the door to my room, leaning back against it. Tears slide silently down my cheeks. After a while I decide I can’t stay here, by the door, any longer. Move! I tell myself. With blurry vision from blood-shot, tear-stained eyes, I make my way to the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror, I turn on the water for the bath, waiting until the steam fills the room, its warm moisture clouding and obstructing the mirror. Now, without the fear of seeing my reflection, I stand to undress. I lower myself up to my neck into the almost too-hot water, and wait.

Slowly, but surely, the tensions racking my body begin to ebb. Muscles begin to relax, aches slowly lessen as the heat seeps through to my bones. I lie there, un-moving. To move would be to let reality back in. I just want to be. No worries, no cares. I know this is a fantasy, but it can be real, at least for a little while.

I must have dozed off. I jump slightly as the knocking sounds again. It must have been what woke me. The water has begun to grow cool and I shiver slightly. Time to get out anyway. Wrapping a towel around me I move to the door, opening it, wondering if it is Wesley come to check on me; hoping it is.

I look into eyes like stormy seas and bleach-blonde hair. Spike. “You look at little pruney there, love,” motioning with his hand towards my extremities. I try to slam the door in his face but my attempt is thwarted by the toe of a large black boot wedged against the door jamb.  I give up and turn my back on him, walking back into the room.

“Now… don’t be like that, pet,” he says, “Not when I love you.” I stop short but don’t turn around. I can’t believe my ears.

“We’re meant to be together, you and I,” he continues, “I went through demon trials. I have a soul, now. I saw your face, after I went through the trials, when my soul was burning me, killing me a thousand times over. I remembered. Remembered who you are, love. Who we were meant to be. You are my destiny. I love you. We’re meant to be together.”

I laugh, a stilted harsh sound I don’t recognise. “God! If I sounded half as pathetic as you do right now, it’s no wonder you killed me,” I spit at him. I’m dying, after chasing him for centuries, trying to get him to realise we have a destiny together and he waits until the last possible moment to go, _oh, maybe there is something. Oh, hang on, I have a soul now. I see you now._ I want to scream and claw his face off.

Suddenly, all emotion leaves me. I turn to him and calmly say, “Get out.”

His face grimaces slightly, “Now, hang on, love…”

“Get out.” I state more forcefully. He opens his mouth to voice another objection.

“Get out, get out, get out, get out! Get out! GET OUT!” The last is screamed in his face. He turns, finally, and heads towards the open door.

“There’s no need for the dramatics, pet. I’m leaving. All you had to do is…” the door slams loudly behind him, “…ask.”

Finally alone I crumple to the floor, too tired to hold myself up any longer.

 

                                                                                                 ***************************************

 

Strong hands scoop me into strong arms against a warm body. I feel like I’m floating for a moment before sinking into cool softness. Soft silkiness flows over my skin, then cool weight rests upon me, slowly warming me. The body warmth touches me again, molding me against it. I don’t resist. The strong arms envelope me, cocooning me in warmth and safety. A soft voice whispers in my ear, “Sleep, now. You’re safe with me.”

A tear slides down  my cheek but darkness has taken me again before it reaches the pillow.

 

                                                                                                ***************************************

 

I wake sometime later still cocooned in the warmth and strength of Wesley’s embrace. The room is dark but there is just enough light filtering in from outside to make out the basic shapes around me. I move cautiously, as gently as possible, trying to turn over slightly to be able to see Wesley’s features without waking him. He stirs a little but doesn’t wake. The seriousness and intensity have left his features, softening them. A slight curl at the corner of his mouth, hints at the smile that could be. He is a handsome, caring, sensitive, very able-bodied man. Why can’t I be destined for him? But I already know the answer. As much as he lives on the more extreme side of life, a demon hunter and ex-Watcher to The Slayer, he is too good for me. Too steadfast and faithful. All I would end up doing is hurting him and hurting myself. I have always been drawn to the macabre, the darker side of life. He deserves so much better. Besides, if he can’t find a cure in time, if there isn’t one for the poison slowly eating its way through my system, very soon I will be dead, or, could I even consider it, worse that dead; a soulless vampire. Definitely not good girlfriend material.

I have to stop using him like this, but, God! I want to feel him inside me again. Feel his strength and tenderness as he wraps me in his blissful embrace. I just want to forget. Forget the future. Forget the past. Forget everything except the moment, the sensation, and him. I reach out gently to smooth back a small curl of hair that has fallen onto his forehead. Without opening his eyes he reaches up from under the covers, gently takes my hand, lowers it to his lips and plants a soft kiss in the centre of my palm.

Tears begin to needle the corners of my eyes. He moves forward as if to kiss me but I pull away slightly, halting his motion. “I don’t want to use you,” I whisper.

“You’re not,” he states firmly. “I have no illusions about what this is, or where it can lead. You’re not the only one with needs, you know.” He smiles gently. This last sentence is said without anger. It is nothing but a statement of fact. There was a lot more to this story, a lot more. But now isn’t the time for twenty questions, just as he wasn’t asking me for explanations. We were providing each other with something we could not get on our own.

I move towards him, tenderly bringing my lips to his in acceptance of our understanding. We would enjoy this, enjoy each other while we were able, for tomorrow the world may end. If not the world, my life was certainly on borrowed time.

With skin on skin, our clothes discarded, our bodies entwine. Wesley kisses me deeply, thoroughly. The urgency that existed yesterday has gone but the intensity remains. His hands trace the curves of my body as I explore his in kind. The feel of his fingertips as they sketch gentle lines across my skin creates fireworks at the nerve endings. I feel my flesh rise, the hairs standing on end from the sensations.

The need to have him inside me is almost unbearable but Wesley’s hands are steady in their explorations. His lips and tongue slow and deliberate on my mouth. I ache with the intensity of my need, quivering with pleasure at his touch.

His hands and mouth are relentless. I give up trying to touch him in return, I can no longer think straight. His roving hand finds its way between my legs to rest against the wetness there, and his mouth moves to my breast as his free hand cups it gently.  At once he is inside me and I am taken into him. His fingers move rhythmically, his mouth hot against my aroused nipple. His tongue flicks against the hardened nub, teeth scraping gently over the surface.

I can’t help it, the intensity of what Wesley is doing to me is too much. Waves of ecstasy crash down over me, squeezing rhythmically against his fingers. Gasping cries escape me as the orgasm and its intensity take me by surprise.

A muffled chuckle reverberates against my breast. With a final kiss on my nipple, Wesley raises his head to look at me as I lie back, small whimpers and rasping breaths escaping me as aftershocks continue to rack my body.

Wesley looks at me intently, pupils so large his eyes appear black with desire. “Do you want me?” His voice is low and husky.

“Yes!” I whisper, drawing him into me.

 

                                                                                                   ******************************************

 

The sun streams through the minute gap in the curtains creating a white line that cuts across the foot of the bed. Wesley is lying propped on his elbow on the bed, in nothing but his briefs, a half-eaten piece of toast in his hand. His coffee sits steaming on the bedside table behind him. I lie beside him leaning against the headboard, several pillows behind my shoulders so I can drink my coffee with ease, before it gets cold. There’s nothing worse than cold coffee with breakfast.

We have been awake chatting comfortably for more than an hour now, deciding to take breakfast in my room to avoid having to get dressed, mostly. The sheet lies draped across my hips, my breasts exposed. I still wonder at how comfortable I am with Wesley after such a short amount of time. He seems just as relaxed with me. I sigh inwardly at all the things that could have been, but never will.

Suddenly, the door to my room bursts open in a flourish of black leather. I’m so astonished I don’t even try to cover up.

“Right! I’ve given you the night to think about this, now we need to tal….” Spike’s sentence trails off as his eyes take in the sight before him. “Oh, charming! Just bloody fantastic! I confess my love for you and not ten minutes later you’re shagging this poncy git!” His eyes linger on my exposed breasts longingly, before moving to glare at Wesley.

I fold my arms quickly across my chest and look at him coolly, “When I told you to get out last night, I meant get out and stay out, not get out and come back later. Get Out! I don’t want to see you, or hear what you have to say.”

Wesley is sitting up, having turned to face Spike, placing himself in front of me. “You heard the lady. Bugger off!”

“Right,” says Spike, his affront obvious. He begins to turn towards the door as if to leave. Wesley moves to pull the sheet up over my exposed nakedness when Spike suddenly whirls on his heels and launches himself at Wesley. Cool, hard fists meet warm human flesh in a tumble of bodies and black leather. I am shoved off the bed to land unceremoniously in a heap on the floor, having to scrabble quickly out of the way to avoid being crushed by the two wrestling, writhing and punching bodies. It gives me some satisfaction to see Wesley getting his fair share of hits in and quite obviously holding his own.

The noises of fists on flesh, breaking furniture and my screaming at Spike to stop what he’s doing and get out, soon bring the altercation to the attention of others.

The room is suddenly very crowded. I scrabble frantically to pull the sheet off the bed to cover my naked body as Gunn and Angel both burst in to see what all the noise is about.

I glare at Angel. “Do something!”

“What!? Why should I get involved? They’re grown men, let them sort it out. This has been brewing long before you showed up,” Angel retorts.

The fighters, aware now of the extra occupants in the room, stagger to their feet. Spike stands with legs wide apart, knees bent, hips thrust forward with shoulders rolled back, and a smug sneer on his face as he licks the blood from the split in his lower lip.

Wesley leans his head back, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He then stands straight for a moment before landing a powerful roundhouse swing squarely on Spike’s jaw. Spike staggers back from the impact, clearly taken by surprise. Angel grabs Spike’s arms roughly, pinning them behind his back before he can return the blow.

Gunn steps in front of Wesley to discourage any further action on his part. “This isn’t solving anything,” he says, the voice of reason in the miasma of testosterone and male pride.

“No, but it feels good,” answers Wesley, as he flexes his split knuckles, testing their level of discomfort.

Angel releases Spike from his restraining hold, telling him to go outside. He suggests that it might be best if Spike gives me some space, “and when Trinity is ready to talk, she will come to find you.” Angel looks quickly at me before turning back to Spike. I hesitate momentarily before nodding my acquiescence to his suggestion.

I guess I will have to talk to Spike at some point. But for now, the hell if I know what I’m going to say.

 Spike reluctantly does as suggested, leaving in a flourish of black leather coat whirling about him as he disappears through the door.

The room starts to swim alarmingly and I feel light headed. It’s started. The toxin has reached my brain and has begun its cruel and torturous transformation. I’m out of time.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Despite the gallant and persistent efforts of Wesley and his Research and Intelligence Department, along with the Science Department, working long hours and some employees even continuing during their time off, we are still no closer to finding a cure or antidote for the toxin slowly corrupting my body and mind.

The pain is a constant reminder of my faltering hold on life and sanity. It started like the sting of prickly heat inside my head, gradually becoming like swarming tiny black ants incessantly nipping as they colonise my brain. I have noticed my irritability has begun to increase, making me quick to anger and become irrationally over-emotional. It could be excused away as a result of the discomfort I am experiencing but I have seen this pattern before. It is just the beginning of my descent into blood-thirsty raging insanity.

I kneel on the floor in the centre of a giant pentagram, robed Shamans arranged around the points to perform an ancient, sacred ritual. I have no idea who they are, nor do I care, really. I am shaking weakly from the after-effects of the spell they have just cast, but my discomfort has definitely lessened. The ants are resting, leaving only the prickly heat to attend me.

The Shamans  break off from the circle one by one, moving in single file towards the door, bowing to Angel as they leave. Clad in heavy, deeply hooded and cowled cloaks that reach the floor, all their features are obscured, including their faces. I don’t even know if they’re human, I muse, shuddering at the thought.

Various Shaman, spell-casters, even witches had been marched through the offices of Wolfram and Hart to attempt what now appears the impossible; to try to halt the progress of the Lazzariss demon’s toxin through my system. To save my life. I had wondered at one point when the pain had been at its worst (for this stage of the transformation, anyway) whether I was worth saving. What contribution could I possibly make? I wasn’t likely to save the world like Angel, or Spike, for that matter.

I did know one thing that would halt its progress, though, and my regression to base animal: my death.

I tried to push down the incessant fluttering and gentle tugging within my core. That will be enough out of you, I chastise my soul silently. What more could I do? I had two choices. Die, knowing with a fair amount of certainty that this is my last performance, my final life before I move onto the afterlife – be it heaven or hell, or neither. Or, I became one of the undead, forgoing my soul to live one last time. What would I gain from this choice, when it seemed that my entire existence, existences, revolved around my soul? And Spike, I added ruefully, grimacing at the thought. Damn him. Damn him to hell!

Angel moved towards me from his sentry post by the door, breaking my reverie. He bent, placing his hand under my elbow, coaxing me to my feet. I obliged without complaint, glad of the assistance. My legs still felt somewhat unsteady. I sat down heavily on the plush lounge. Angel moves to a side table at the back of the room, lifting the glass carafe above a crystal tumbler, three-quarters filling the glass. I licked my lips, suddenly thirty at the thought of the cool water within reach. I take the offered glass in both hands, mumbling my thanks before taking long sips of the refreshing liquid.

Angel lowered himself onto the lounge beside me, patiently waiting for me to quench my thirst, in silence. I lower the glass to my lap, turning to him. He takes this as his queue. “How are you feeling?”

I take a moment to make an assessment of my well-being. “Better, I think. It doesn’t feel like an angry ants nest in here anymore.” I tap my temple in unnecessary explanation. “It’s still there, the discomfort, just not as intense. I don’t feel like I want to kill everyone as much anymore. I wouldn’t mind doing Spike a permanent injury or two, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the Lazzariss Demon.” I smile at Angel. Whatever we had so many years ago is no longer as compelling. What has remained is a comfortable awareness of one another.

Angel smiles back in his lopsided way, “ You’ll have to get in line.”

I suspected Angel would be there cheering me on, possibly even lending a hand, should I ever decide to follow through with my thought of maiming Spike. The idea gives me a perverse sense of pleasure. I look back at Angel who has been patiently waiting for me to re-join him in the here and now. He seems to be wanting to ask me something but is possibly unsure how to broach the subject. There could only be a couple of things that would cause this type of hesitancy from Angel.

I take a guess at the subject matter. “You want to know what will happen should this continue.”

He frowns, “Need to know, not want. For your sake, and everyone else here, I need to know what to expect.”

“I know,” I murmur. Taking a deep breathe, I square my shoulders and begin. “You’ve seen the beginning. The pain, irritability and temper. Once the symptoms start to show these things increase exponentially. The pain becoming excruciating; until all you want to do is tear open your own head to try to remove it.” The image of one of my friends clawing his eye balls from his skull to reach through his eye sockets to get to the source of his agony, is clear in my mind. Blinded and crazed he had run directly into path of an oncoming lorry. His death, at least, had been quick. As his body died, so did the toxin, the site of the wound from the Lazzariss demon losing its tracings of purple and grey. The tiny crystalline spheres dissolving to nothing as his body cooled. I try to repress the thought, swallowing the lump rising in my throat but only after divulging my observations to Angel.

“Then comes the madness,” I continue after another sip of water. “the impatience and temper become rage. The person afflicted loses all reasoning, unable to control their impulses. They don’t just lose their soul or conscience, like a vampire, they lose everything that made them who they were. In the final hours there is no recognition of the people around them, a movement can set them off on a killing spree. They show no joy or any emotion at all, but exist only to maim and kill. Death is the only thing that will stop them at this point.”

I look up again, holding Angel’s gaze in mine, “What I asked, when you first saw me in Wesley’s office, it wasn’t fair to ask such a thing of you. But you must promise me this. If I start to get worse, before I lose my mind, you must kill me. It is the only thing that will keep everyone safe. And the only way to save me.” I pause to take a breath. “Gunn has given his promise. I trust him to keep it. Wesley still believes he can find a way to save me in time, I think. If Gunn can’t do it, if Wesley tries to stop him, I need you to be the one to help me kill myself. And, if I’m not capable, if I’m going to hurt someone, or worse, I need you to do it.”

Angel is as still as stone for a moment. His nod is brusque and rushed, but it is a nod.

“Thank you,” is all I can say for a moment. Slowly I rise from the lounge, testing my legs. I place a hand on Angel’s shoulder, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need some air.”

 

                                                                                       *************************************

 

The concrete wall behind me is cool against my back, wicking the heat from my body like a huge heatsink. I rest my head against the cool surface, letting out a slow breath. As much as I need to feel the heat of the sun on my skin, the inner courtyard of Wolfram and Hart had proved too frequented by members of staff, visiting professionals and clients to be the peaceful haven of tranquillity I craved. I had walked, not caring where I was going, up corridors and down stairs until I came across this secluded corner in the basement, partially hidden behind huge power generators I deduced were there in case of mains power failure. The events of the afternoon suddenly overwhelmed me as the cool silence enveloped me. My head falls forward onto my arms which are resting atop my knees. Tears fall unbidden and unable to be stopped, landing in tiny splats in the dust between my feet. Time ceases to exist and I float and whirl in my imagined cone of silence, losing my grip on the world.

Reality slowly creeps back into the edges of my oblivion with a distant repetitive tap, tap noise that seems to be getting closer. Each tap makes my nerves twitch at the intrusion. With the noise is the sensation within me, little more than the flutter of butterfly wings at first, growing more insistent with the approaching repetitive tap. Spike. With the name came his image: spiked blond hair, stormy eyes and black leather coat. The butterflies within me rejoice, pulsing brightly, much to my chagrin.

The tapping; his footsteps, falter momentarily in their approach. He must not have known I was here, I surmise from his halting progress. He seems unsure what to do.

I don’t look at him. I can’t lift my head. The tears flow freely once more, my shoulders shaking with the power of my sobs. There is no motion for a second then he is suddenly beside me, cool hand placed tentatively upon my shoulder. When he doesn’t receive the rejection he expects he sits close to me and draws me slowly to him in an embrace of such tenderness the tears burst forth again with vehemence.

“Hush now, love….Trinity” My name seems foreign on his tongue. He knew me by another name. The memories, I surmise, of that other person, persons, in fact, making the transition more difficult.

I look up into his face, my head feeling like it is made of lead, eyes bloodshot and puffy. The sight that greets me tears my heart in two. His face is contorted in a perfect mask, equal parts soul-rending sorrow and blissful elation.

My arms move of their own volition snaking around his waist, my head falling to rest in the dip of his shoulder. We sit like this in silence for an indefinite time, lost in our own thoughts. I think I may have even dozed for a little while.

I feel like I’m basking in the sun, but the heat is coming from within. This is in contrast to the coolness I feel pressed against my body.

With the reawakening of my senses to my surroundings I fight the overwhelming desire to squirm. My butt has gone to sleep from sitting on the hard concrete step for so long. I feel as if my legs have been dismembered; no longer connected to my nervous system. I sigh. There is no escape, I am going to have to move and disturb this surreal moment of contentment.

As I struggle to stand, Spike seems panicked at my attempts. I look at him coolly, “Can you give me a hand please? I can’t feel my legs.” Instantly he is on his feet, one hand beneath my elbow, the other around my waist, offering support and guidance as I get to my feet. With mincing steps the blood starts to flow again through oxygen-starved muscles, flooding my backside and lower limbs with pins and needles. The sensation is made even less pleasant by its similarity to what I had been feeling in my head from the Lazzariss toxin.

Slowly the feeling begins to return to my legs, and I am able to support myself. With a little reluctance  Spike releases his hold on me, taking a step back.

“Right then. I’ll leave you be, shall I?” he speaks quietly, hesitantly, before turning to walk away. Before I have time to question my logic, my hand reaches out to touch his arm lightly, halting his departure.

“Stay,” I whisper. “For a little while, at least.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he says gently looking around quickly, as if searching for something, “but we need to find you somewhere more comfortable to sit.”

Together we wander through the lower levels of Wolfram & Hart, neither speaking nor touching, just walking in silence. As we approach an enclosed staircase I notice a sign next to the door; _Carpark_. Spikes face lights with the inkling of an idea. “Come on.” He reaches towards me but doesn’t touch me, instead, waiting for me to close the distance and put my hand in his. After a moment’s hesitation I acquiesce. Hand in hand we take the stairs to the basement carpark, where I had ogled the array of classic and luxury sports cars only days ago. Those days felt like weeks.

Spike weaves his way through the parked cars with me in tow until he finds the one he’s looking for. “Right,” he states, “this one will do.” It’s a sleek, low slung predatory-looking machine, gunmetal grey in colour, with the deep lustre of metallic paint. I run my had over its sleek lines stopping to trace my index finger around the trident badge on the front grill. Maserati, what a beautiful car.

The horrid screech of rending metal echoes throughout the cavernous space, closely followed by the blaring, siren-like tones of a car alarm. The beautiful door hangs limply on its hinges as Spike climbs into the driver’s seat, disappearing under the dash for a moment. Silence once again descends around us as Spike quickly disables the alarm, reappearing at my side with a rather self-satisfied look on his face. I have the presence of mind to raise an eyebrow at him but decide to say nothing.

He quickly moves to the passenger side door opening it with a flourish. He delicately takes my hand and leads me to the opening, offering support as I manoeuvre myself into the form-fitting passenger seat.

He once again climbs into the driver’s seat, lifting the door into place before slamming it closed. I look at him. In spite of myself I smile. He is fun; we would have fun together, I admit begrudgingly. I raise an eyebrow at him and look from him to the car and back again. Spike gives a shrug, “It’s Angel’s.”

Without warning a giggle erupts from my throat. It quickly builds momentum to become a laugh as Spike’s face erupts in a childlike grin before joining me in hysterics, the laughter contagious. It feels good to laugh; to let go.

As the laughter wains, Spike looks at me in something akin to awe. “I can’t believe how good it feels to hear you laugh. It does something to me, right here.” He places his fist against his chest directly over his heart. My own heart is doing little somersaults in my chest with the sound of his laugh. Stupid heart, I thought, pouting inwardly. Traitor.

Us laughing together brings to mind all the times before, in our past lives, when we had laughed and played and had fun together. It made me wonder. “Do you remember me from when you were human; when I was Estelle Ashmore?”

He pauses for a moment, possibly choosing the words he is going to say. “I do, pet. I remember seeing you at parties. But I was blind. Blind and stupid. I thought I was in love, with someone else.”

I decide I might lighten the mood a little as it seems to be getting a little morose. “Well, I liked your poetry, even if she didn’t.”

Spike looks up at me somewhat surprised. “You remember my poetry? But it was awful. Everyone said so.”

“It was heartfelt and showed the caring, romantic side to your nature.” I rush on with my next question before we can dwell any longer on this subject. I realise I’m not ready to let all those feelings back in just yet.

“Do you remember you’re past lives, since you’ve felt the connection?” I hoped he understood what I meant by connection; the tug of hearts, or souls, or whatever it was, that we had been experiencing since meeting again.

“Other than this one?” he questions. I nod.

 “No. I feel the pull to you, but no more memories of other times….other lives….have come to me. But, you do. You remember?” he almost seems saddened by the knowledge that he would not know us as I do.

“I remember.” I concur.

“Tell me. Please?” Spike adds for good measure.

“Alright. But, on one condition. When we’re done talking, we take this baby for a spin.” I grin mischievously at Spike, fondly patting the large black dash before me.

“Deal!” he says, matching my grin.

I begin, telling him of Henry, and Thomas; the life before Henry. I tell him of how the knowledge had come to me by way of dreams and moments of déjà vu during my previous lives. “I spent the remainder of those lives trying to find my way back to you, to reconnect with you.

“This life is different, however. I was born knowing everything. I’ve had complete other lives in my head since I can remember. Since I was old enough to understand they were memories. It does seem a touch more final that the others.

That this one may be my last go on the merry-go-round has crossed my mind a lot lately. Especially in light of recent events.” My hand flickers to my injured side, feeling the raised area under my shirt. I let my hand drop back into my lap quickly.

Spike sees the movement and says, “If anyone can find a cure, it will be Wesley.” I quickly glance sideways at him, wondering if it has pained him to say this of Wesley. He seems genuine in his assessment of Wesley’s skill as a researcher. “Besides,” he adds, “every magician, magic hobgoblin and science geek at Wolfram & Hart’s disposal is working on this to try to save you.”

I stare at him stunned. “Why? I’m no one. I’m not important!”

“Yes. You are, love. You’re important to all the important people at Wolfram & Hart. You’ve got Wesley moping around like a love-sick puppy.” I blanch at his analogy. Spike sees my reaction and looks concerned. Is he worried I will shut him out again? His face suddenly sets in a look of decision. “Is there something there? Between you and Wesley, I mean.”

I look at him for a moment, wondering how best to answer this. After a quick breath, “Wesley and I have an understanding. We were there for each other when we both needed someone but neither of us are living under the delusion it can be any more than it is. He’s a genuine, caring person with a lot of love to give the right person. I’m not that person. I’m damaged goods. Hell, in a few days’ time I’ll probably be dead.

“In honesty, I have been avoiding him. I was getting worried that with my mood swings getting worse I may do something to hurt him. Part of what the toxin does is strip away your humanity. It eats away at everything that makes you who you are and removes your sense of self control. Rage takes over and you become a mindless killing machine.”

The reality of my situation crashes down upon me again. I am silent for a long time.

“It sounds a bit like being a vampire without a soul to me,” says Spike, breaking the silence.

“Oh, no. Not like being a vampire at all.” I look directly at him. “Even with the demon of the vampire possessing you, you still retain your memories from your human life. The essence of who you were as a human remains with you. You have the power to choose how much control you give the demon. Your humanity is still there, suppressed by your demon half, definitely, but still there, none the less. Some vampires give themselves over to the demon completely, others, like you, William….Spike, I mean, hold onto your humanity. So, even without a soul vampires have the capacity to love, and grieve, and feel joy and sorrow and loss.

“This toxin will remove every semblance of who I am as a person. I will not even know I was a person nor recognise anything or anyone. All I will know is the urge to kill and maim and destroy.”

I again fall silent, looking down at my hands folded in my lap. I don’t have to look at Spike to know the truth of my situation has started to sink in.

“I will ask this of you now, as I have asked the others. If there is no cure to be found. If the Shamans can’t hold this at bay for long, I don’t want to go out the way I have just described to you. Don’t let me change. I’d rather die with my sanity and humanity intact. If I can’t go through with it, if I hesitate to take my own life when I decide it’s time, promise me you will let one of the others kill me, or do it yourself.”

“I’ve just found you, and you’re asking me to kill you?” he asks incredulously.

“Only if the others don’t or won’t hold up their end of the bargain. I’ve asked Gunn to do it but there’s a possibility that Wesley will try to stop him, try to buy more time to find a cure. If that happens Angel is to step in and finish the job. I don’t think Angel was too happy about my request, but it is what it is.” My chest is tight and my head aches from the stresses of the day. I close my eyes and rest my head on the supple leather of the enveloping seat.

Spike finally breaks the melancholy. “You made quite the impression on Angel; as Essie. He never would tell me the story there.”

“It’s a story, alright,” I murmur under my breath. Of course, Spike’s extrasensory hearing has no trouble deciphering my words.

“Will you tell me?” he asks tentatively.

“Yes. It does relate to you in a large way. I think you should know it.”

“Relate to me, how?” he quizzes.

“Angel and I first met on the night you were turned.” Spike’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“You did?”

“Yes. Now, sssshhhhh. Let me tell the story.”

 

                                                                                                   *************************************

 

Spike kept his promise of taking the Maserati out for a joyride when I finished telling my story. He seemed a little hurt when it got to the bit about deciding to have Angel turn me, after I discovered that he had made the same choice, when offered by Drusilla, without batting an eye. I decided to omit the part about Angel offering to de-flower me at the same time as turning me.

I did tell him, however, what I had said to Drusilla as she killed me. I explained it was a promise I planned to keep, and that I hoped he wouldn’t be too upset if I did follow through on my promise.

He assured me that despite believing he loved Drusilla at one stage, she had broken his heart too many times. The cruellest act she had visited upon him was sleeping with Angelus on numerous occasions. I crinkled my nose at this thought. The idea of sleeping with Angel was far from repugnant, but Drusilla? It would be like bedding a bag of crazy.

In preparation for taking the car out Spike decided to go and find the keys. He might be able to get into the car with little difficulty but hot-wiring a luxury sports car was beyond even Spike’s capabilities. He arrived back a few minutes later, having located the lock box containing all the car keys near the elevator.

“You know, you could have just used the keys in the first place. You didn’t have to break Angel’s car.” I state matter-of-factly. Spike’s only response is a shrug.

The V8 sprang to life with an exuberant roar. Spike put the car in gear and floored it. With a squeal of tyres we left the parking space like a racehorse leaving the starting booth.

With a deafening roar we hit the ramp leading to the street going way too fast. I could see the security guard yelling agitatedly into his shoulder-mounted radio. As we hit the apex of the driveway my stomach became weightless, the car lifting to the end of its suspension’s travel. I looked over towards the security guard’s booth just in time to see Angel race from behind it to stand gaping at his prize motor vehicle in mid-flight, Spike at the wheel and me squealing in delight from the passenger’s seat.

With the window down, Spike stuck his arm out in a cursory wave to Angel, with the words, “back soon,” thrown in for good measure. With another roar of the engine and squeal of tyres we reach the bottom of the driveway and race into the street heedless of oncoming traffic. It will be a miracle if I make it through the drive, I think.

The exit had been all for Angel’s benefit for as soon as we are out of sight and earshot of the building we slow to a more sane pace. We cruise around the city of Los Angeles , talking and laughing, sometimes sitting in silence.

Despite my recent misgivings I am enjoying Spike’s company. The memories of past lives mingle with the present giving me a sense of belonging.

We make our way to a lookout  to get a better view of the city lights at night. It’s a clear night and the view is spectacular. With the conversation finally waning to a comfortable silence, I look at the clock in the car and decide it’s time we head back. No need to worry anyone unnecessarily.

Spike makes the decision to go home via the highway. “To see what this baby can do on the open road,” he explains.

The ride home is exhilarating. The speed and handling of the Maserati, with its high power engine, is like nothing I have ever experienced. By the time we pull into the carpark again, my face is flushed with excitement. I don’t really want the drive to end.

Together, Spike and I make our way back to the accommodation wing and to my room. Standing in the corridor  outside my room, there is suddenly an awkward silence. Spike breaks it first. “Well, goodnight, then,” he says.

Before I can respond he reaches out to me, taking a step forward, and gently curling his arms around me. My arms encircle his waist and we stand like that for some time. Being held in his embrace seems as normal as breathing. The coolness of his body is seeping through my clothes, making me shiver slightly.

I look up at Spike, he seems lost in his own thoughts, eyes focused on something far in the distance. He must sense my gaze because he looks down at me and smiles. The smile is full of emotion. I’ve never seen a look so open on Spike before. He lifts his hand slowly, as if not wanting to startle me with any sudden moves, and gently cups my chin in his palm. He lowers his head to kiss my mouth with such tenderness I am helpless to do anything but respond in kind. The kiss lingers. He appears to be waiting for me to make the next move, to increase the pressure of our lips and dictate what happens next. My inner core explodes in a magnificent display of fireworks and fanfares. Lost in the overlapping realities of past and present lives my soul reaches out to him. The twin suns are reunited. Well, that’s torn it! I think ruefully. There’s no going back now. I press my lips to his, deepening the kiss.

With the care of someone handling a Faberge egg Spike gathers me into his arms and carries me into my room. With equal care he places me on the bed and turns to leave. The twinge in my heart at the thought of him leaving is almost physical. I reach out quickly taking hold of one of his hands, halting his progress towards the door.

“Stay,” I urge. He turns slowly and approaches the bed. Instead of taking me immediately as I thought he might, Spike settles onto the bed lying on top of the bed covers. He waits patiently while I move to the bathroom to dress for bed and go through my nightly human regime.

Washed, brushed and suitably attired I make my way back to the bed and slip beneath the covers with a sense of contented relief. As I fall into a blissful sleep, his arms wrap around me and I feel complete.

The silence of the sleeping room is pierced by a guttural scream. My scream. Visions of blood and death, mayhem and terror flash before my eyes. My hands fixed in the shape of cruel claws swing about wildly, desperately seeking a focus for the rage building inside me. I thrash and claw at the visions, crying out for blood. Strong arms restrain me, pinning my flailing arms to my sides. Soft whispers reach me through the blood and gore. “ It’s okay, love. You can’t hurt me. I’m here, I’m here.”

The visions finally fade along with the urge to rip and tear. I had been aware of what was happening but was powerless to fight it.

Unable to open my eyes, I feel sleep quickly taking me again as strong cool arms envelope me.

Something is calling me back to the surface of wakefulness. Drowsily, through the waves of sleep washing over me, I hear a strange sound. After a moment’s concentration I realise its someone sobbing.

Upon opening my eyes, my heart breaks at the anguished sound of those tears. Spike’s eyes are closed with the effort to suppress the emotion momentarily overpowering him. Taking his face between my hands I gently kiss away the tears from his cheeks. There are scratches and gouges visible on his face and down his neck from my night terrors earlier. I plant delicate strings of kisses, following the raised lines of my inflicted injuries. “Don’t cry, William. My beautiful, precious William.” With my words my kisses become more urgent. I withdraw slightly to be able to look at him a moment. His eyes open. The love emanating from them is tangible, but other emotions play across his features too quickly for me to determine what they are. Before I can question my reasoning I pull his face to mine kissing him fiercely, demanding response. Spike hesitates a moment, as if unsure that he is doing the right thing. I guess he might still be smarting a little from my absolute rejection of him just days prior. Or maybe he doesn’t want to rush and risk pushing me too fast into something I may regret.

“You won’t lose me. I’m here. You can feel me, can’t you?” I place my hand flat on his chest over his heart to emphasise my point. He doesn’t answer but moves his hand to my neck, cradling the base of my skull as he pulls me to his mouth, lips demanding. I respond with the same sense of urgency and need. My soul flares in triumph and I know by the look on Spike’s face his soul blazes in his chest in unison. We are one again.

The passion of our kisses builds to fever pitch but I become aware of a problem. I can’t move. Pinned beneath the bed covers, they remain tucked in to one side of me. Spike, who still lays on top of the coverlet, is anchoring them from the other. I am trapped, unable to move enough to free myself. Spike feels my abortive struggles and looks into my eyes with an expression of dread. I smile reassuringly, touching his face, blushing as I explain, “I’m stuck.” I tug pathetically at the covers in demonstration.

With a laugh tinged heavily with relief, he rises from the bed to allow me to emerge from beneath my restraints. I sit up, kneeling on the bed, beckoning for him to return to me. He obliges immediately, seeking my embrace. His kisses are passionate, lips and tongue demanding  my response. Our bodies press together, moulding into one another. I can feel his erection pushing against my stomach and groan softly in response. The coolness of his skin seeps through the thin layers of material between us. I wonder if he feels the heat of my body the way I do his cool.

The heat and yearning that is building between my thighs is becoming difficult to ignore. I want to feel William’s flesh pressed against mine once more as I remember it from long ago; when he was Henry. But we were different people then. Still the same souls but with different life experiences and without the completeness of the memories I hold now. I push those memories back. This is William and I making new memories that we have not had before. This is our first time. I blink as this realisation crashes over me, waking me to the reality of the moment.

The excitement and anticipation mingle with a nervousness I had not been expecting. It suddenly all feels new and unknown. I look at him now as if seeing him for the first time. I no longer see Thomas or Henry or even human William. I see a man with love in his eyes, fighting a silent battle for control over the demon possessing him, constantly striving for the redemption that his soul demands. I realise that his internal conflict would never end. I wonder briefly if I would have the strength of resolve to do the same. Not that it would ever come to that. My time is drawing to an end all too quickly. I must make the most of the time I have left.

I look once more into those stormy sea eyes, seeing the longing within them. Mine answer in kind. My whole body blazes with the wanting of him, kisses traded with wild abandon. I reach for the hem of his t-shirt pushing it up his torso, exposing his exquisitely rippled abdomen and muscular chest. He raises his arms to allow me to remove the shirt completely. I pull it over his head discarding it on the floor beside the bed.

My hands trace the contours and ridges of his cool flesh, marveling at the feel of it beneath my palms. It’s like malleable marble. I lick my lips wanting to taste him, inhale him, take him into me in every way possible. My mouth presses against his chest, kissing, tasting. My tongue flickers over his now erect nipple bringing a low moan to his lips. His arousal is obvious as I plant a trail of kisses down his torso towards the bulge straining within the confines of his jeans.

Spike suddenly grabs my shoulders pulling me upright. His eyes are wide with longing and passion. He reaches forward grasping my nightdress and slowly draws it up my body to expose my nakedness beneath. It quickly joins his t-shirt on the floor.

“Ha, you little minx!” he exclaims hoarsely, “You’re not wearing any underwear.”

A cheeky shrug is my only response. With this Spike pulls me roughly against his semi-clad body, chuckling deep in his chest.

“Have you any idea how much I love you?” he says with an audible note of awe mixed with what sounds like fear. Fear at the intensity of his feelings, of the unknown, of the future? I understand all of those fears, know them first hand when I look at him.

“Yes,” is all I say in response, looking him squarely in the eye. He blinks as the sincerity and conviction of my statement hit home, as if I have physically struck him.

I take pity on him, saying, “We were lovers once in another life. You may not have those memories, but I do. I know what it is like to love you, to have your soul, and you mine. You told me once that loving me filled your entire being. It’s like that for me, too.” Before I can say anything more Spike kisses me hard and demanding in his need for me.

My inner thighs are damp with my wanting. I have to have him inside me or I feel I will die. His hands caress and fondle my breasts bringing my nipples to full hardness between his fingers, my breathing ragged. His mouth moves down my throat leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake until he takes my nipple into his mouth. A gasp escapes me. I fumble blindly with the belt buckle at his hips and then the clasp and zipper of his jeans. Pushing the denim down his hips to his thighs, his erection springs free from the constraints of this, his final piece of clothing.

He moves quickly from the bed to stand long enough for his jeans to join my nightdress and his t-shirt on the floor. He kneels once more on the bed and I marvel at the warrior’s physique before me, lithe and wiry. And very, very aroused.

My hands once again trace the flexing muscles of his chest, thumbs caressing his hard nipples. His movements mirror my own making me groan in pleasure. His hands move to my waist drawing me to him. Our bodies press together, his hands cupping my buttocks drawing me still closer, his arousal hard and pulsing against my stomach. With tenderness that still surprises me he lays me back on the bed. I pull him down upon me. “I want you….” I’m breathing heavily at his proximity. I can feel him pressed against my wetness. “…inside me.”

With a look of pure, unbridled need Spike thrusts into me. A gasp escapes me at the sensation,  echoed in Spike’s wordless exclamation. He thrusts again as I wrap my legs around him drawing him into me. My hips grind up to meet his thrusts, moving faster now. The tightness is building inside me, fueling the dual fires of loins and soul. My hips rise off the bed to meet him in joyous abandon at my need to possess him, as only he can possess me. My breath is coming in sighing gasps. My mind, heart and body explodes in ecstasy, pulsing and vibrating around his engorged shaft. As I convulse and buck under him, the world disappears and I float in darkness where there is only me and him. I cry out wordlessly again and again. Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.

His thrusts are becoming more urgent, driven by my outcries, to the point of release. His demon face surfaces at the edge of his control. I don’t care. _Oh, please_ , I urge silently with fingers, mouth, teeth and limbs, _come with me! Make us one! Make me whole!_ As I convulse under him again he cries out, the sound of anguished longing and pleasure so intense it verges on pain. Together we ride the waves of our joining, one entity at last. I have found him; my twin soul.

With a few final stilted movements he slumps against me. His full weight deliciously upon me, my perspiration glistening on our touching skin. My breathing is ragged as I gulp air trying to catch my breath. His chest heaves still from our lovemaking.

“I think my head exploded,” I giggle. Touching the hair at the crown of my head as if to check it is still intact.

Spike sits up on his elbows, giving me a cheeky grin. His face once more his own. “I know mine did.”

We laugh together at the crassness of his joke. He slowly removes himself from me, causing me to gasp at the sensation, and rolls to the side where he props himself up on his elbow to look down at me. My head flops back on my pillow, my hand resting on his washboard abs. The feel of his cool skin beneath my fingertips, enough to reignite my desire; my need to feel him inside me again. If only there was a way he could make love to me for ever. I must have spoken my thoughts out load. Spike laughs softly. “Greedy,” he says, shaking his head, but his hand grasps mine and squeezes, silently conveying a similar desire. His face suddenly loses its humour as  he looks into my eyes earnestly.

“Is this love?” He asks. “Is this what love feels like?” I place my hand on his cheek, unable to speak. My throat thick with welling emotion.

“I thought I had felt love before,” he continues. “ But this…. I feel like I have to possess you, consume you, yet I will not be whole until you possess and consume me too. Is it the same for you, pet?” The look in his eyes is at once expectant, innocent and terrified.

“Yes.” It’s little more than a whisper but it is enough. We lie together holding one another for a long time. My mind drifts in blissful thoughts of lovemaking and past lives.

Spike abruptly sits bolt upright. I open my eyes to see him look from my hand to my face and back again. I suddenly feel lightheaded. I bring my hand to my forehead and become acutely aware of two things: my hand has begun to twitch without me realising, and the ants are back.

I stare at Spike, unable to hide the fear I know he can see in my eyes. “Angel will bring the Shamans back.”

Spike shakes his head. His countenance is contorted with fear and anger and love and anguish. “I can’t lose you!” His voice is strangled with his overwhelming emotions. “I can’t let you go. You can’t leave me!” He sobs, the grief causing him physical pain. “Not now….that we’ve found each other.”

His voice drops to a whisper, “I can’t let that happen to you.” The demon face emerges as he advances on me. I stare at him a moment before realisation of what he intends to do finally dawns on me.

“No! I yell, leaping from the bed and backing away from him. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m trying to save you, love!” He sounds almost exasperated at my question.

I keep backing away, stumbling into furniture, my arms outstretched towards him in defense. “ The Shamans. They’ll give Angel and Wesley more time. They’re still looking for a cure! There’s still time….”

“No. It’s getting worse.” He states. “The time between Shaman spells is getting shorter. This is your only chance. Our only chance to be together, before it’s too late.” He speaks to me as if speaking to a young child. “Before you’ve changed too much.

“I see what it’s doing to you! How it’s eating you away from the inside,”  he says through clenched teeth. “I can‘t let that happen.”

I’ve reached the centre of the room and am edging my way backwards to the door. There’s still a chance that Angel and Wesley will come up with something, I try to convince myself.  But, before it’s too late? I chastise myself. I am losing hope.

But this? What Spike is attempting, is this right? I just need more time to make the decision.

Spike leaps at me. He’s too strong. I don’t stand a chance at holding him off. I push with all my might against his chest, trying to keep my throat away from his fangs, but he continues to draw me in. There’s a sharp pinch as his fangs pierce my skin. It’s not so bad, I tell myself, you’ve died like this before. Spike’s even been the one to do it.

I realise obtusely that Spike must have been holding back during our lovemaking. With that kind of strength, if he’d lost control for even a second I would have been broken like a china doll.

As the blood starts to flow from my body and my heart begins to falter, one thought remains. I don’t want to die!

I scream. An ear-piercing glass-shattering sound, released in the hope it will bring someone in time to save me. My legs have turned to rubber and Spike lowers me slowly to the floor, cradling me in his arms in a lovers’ embrace. Through the blackness, as it slowly engulfs me, I become aware of the taste of salt and copper. I don’t have time to think any more about it. As my heart stops beating, Spike’s final words to me travel with me through the ether, “I love you.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 – Spike’s POV

 

She’s dead! I’ve killed her.

The naked, fragile body lying cradled in my arms is still, lifeless. Her head is fallen back exposing the punctures in her delicate throat, dark hair cascading over my arm to the floor in auburn waves.

My soul, that had only moments before basked me in glorious light, leaping and rejoicing in Trinity’s resplendent presence, now lies crumbled, extending feeble attempts - a fatally wounded bird moving its’ wings in the final spasms of death - to endure. To be without her now, I might as well be soulless.

My head drops forward. I no longer have the strength, the will, to hold it aloft. It comes to rest on the soft still-warm flesh of her breast. Come back to me Trinity.

Noise from behind. Voices. Leave me be. Please, go away.

Rough hands grasp my shoulders, shaking fiercely. I look, unseeing, into the face before me. Pain flares across my cheek. I blink as the sting makes my eyes water. Suddenly, my vision clears.

“You slapped me!” I stare at Angel, uncomprehending.

His face is dark with rage, eyes glowering at me from beneath heavily drawn-down brows, glowing amber in his demon form. “Spike! What have you done?” He reaches a hand towards Trinity’s motionless body.

“Don’t!” I roar, anguish causing my voice to break. “Don’t touch her!” I draw her closer to me, intensely aware of her fragility. So easily broken. I look down again at Trinity’s beautiful face, features belying her tragic end.

Angel looks at me sharply, seemingly surprised at the intensity of my reaction.

“It was getting worse. I couldn’t…. I couldn’t let it happen.” I struggle with the words. “I had to do something!”

Comprehension begins to show in Angel’s face. The demon disappears. “What happened, Spike?” His words are still venomous but no longer murderous. There is a movement behind me. More people have entered the room. One look from Angel halts their approach. I can feel the weapons, pointed steel and wood, aimed at my back, ready to pierce my heart at Angel’s nod. If I died, I wonder, would I find her again?

I look at Angel. “The treatment wasn’t lasting! What the Shamans did was already wearing off. I saw what it was doing to her, Angel. I couldn’t let her go through that. I had to do something. The only thing I could do.”

There is a movement from behind me, a rustling of fabric, as one of the unknown assailants near the door approaches me. I turn to them, ready to face my death, if that is what’s coming. Wesley continues past me to the bed. With slightly shaking hands he removes the sheet from the bed and kneels in front of me, arms extended, sheet draped between them. “May I? he asks, motioning hesitantly towards Trinity’s prone body still held protectively in my arms.

Very slowly, not making any sudden moves, Wesley covers Trinity’s nakedness with the sheet. A deep loss scours his features, echoing the ache in my own chest. He understands. Quietly, evenly, Wesley speaks, “We still had time, Spike. We may have found another way.”

I look at him coolly. “You didn’t see her. We were out of time. I couldn’t watch her suffer like that; it wasn’t right. I finally found her, only to see her slipping away…. It was the only way we could be together.”

Comprehension of the true situation finally dawns on Wesley. I watch with morbid fascination as the emotions play across his face. “You both felt the connection. You didn’t kill her, you turned her.” Horror settles on Wesley’s features. “You know she’ll come back without her soul, don’t you?”

Grief contorts my face as I look from Wesley to Angel and back again. I know Gunn is there behind me still training a weapon on my unprotected back. If he would just pull the trigger, or take the swing all this would be over. “I can still feel her. It was like the gravitational pull between the earth and the moon when she was alive, now I only feel the minutest of tugs, but I still feel her. That has to mean something.”

“I felt her pull, like you describe, when I had no soul.” Angel’s words are like knives piercing my heart, sharp barbs ripping it to sheds at each extraction. “We had a connection, too. Did she tell you that?

“She’s gone, Spike. When she comes back it won’t be her.”

I thought what we shared was special. Trinity had declared her love for me, told me it was the same for her as with me. How can she have shared a connection with Angel too?

Wesley appears quite disturbed by the conversation. Trinity had told me there was nothing there, that they had an understanding. But what if she was wrong? My mouth hangs open in the shape of a tortured “O” a soundless scream emanating from it. Within seconds my world has been torn apart. Once full, momentarily enshrouded in a feeling of such contentment and bliss I never knew was possible, now all that remains is absolute, shattered emptiness.

Wesley looks as if he’s about to say something, as if he’s struggling to find the right words. I decide not to stick around to find out what they are. With all the tenderness and care I can muster I lower Trinity to the floor, carefully removing her head from the cradle of my elbow. Her hair softly billows from under her head, tiny glints of copper reflecting among the soft auburn waves. Her lips are slightly open showing white teeth peeping from beneath. Looking at her mouth like this conjures images of her, head thrown back in the throes of passion, our lips and tongues meeting in wanton abandon. A sob, desolate and agonised, breaks from my chest. I push it down, standing and stepping away from the only love I had truly known.

The other occupants of the suite seem uncomfortable at my nakedness. I could care less. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I gather my jeans, quickly pulling them on, before donning my crumpled t-shirt. I look at the flimsy cotton nightdress still lying on the floor and all I want to do is bundle it to my nose and draw in Trinity’s scent, to take some small part of her into me one last time. Instead, I straighten my shoulders, grabbing my coat from the chair near the door.

As I turn to leave I say to the occupants of the room, “Take care of her for me.”

As the door closes I hear Wesley say something that sounds like, “wait, stop!” But I keep moving, pushing one foot in front of the other. I can’t stop. I have to go.

As I enter the carpark, taking a set of keys from the key lock box by the elevator, I hear hurried footsteps coming up behind. So, they can’t let me go. I turn to face my approaching foe ready for the assault. Wesley, somewhat out of breath from his headlong dash to catch me before I can leave forever, slides to a halt in front of me.

“Why didn’t you stop?” he asks, through sharp intakes of breath.

“Why should I?” I retort.

“Because I was trying to tell you something,” he responds rather indignantly.

His attitude is a little surprising, given the circumstances. “Alright, I’m listening.”

“Right,” says Wesley, having gotten his breath back. “What I was trying to tell you is that I have been doing some research on reincarnation. And, I think I may have found something, or, more precisely, someone. I think they can help.” When Wesley sees I am still listening he moves into the carpark. “Come with me.”

                                                       **************************************

With Wesley behind the wheel all I can do is wait to see where we are going. He’s been quite secretive about this whole journey. I look at him again for the umpteenth time trying to glean something about where we’re going and why we’re here.

In frustration I finally blurt, “I’ll Bite. Where are you taking me?”

The silence broken, Wesley begins to speak. “Did Trinity tell you about her life as Becky?”

I look at him, wondering where he was going with this. “I know some of it, of course. The end.” I am surprised at how difficult it is to voice my part in her death. She really has done a number on me. I try unsuccessfully to quieten the ache that has flared in my chest once more.

Wesley reaches into his jacket and pulls out a book. The edges are tattered and worn, leather cover shiny from repeated use and handling. “I found this,” he states, as he hands me the book. “It’s Trinity’s diary, of her past lives. She goes into great detail, it’s really quite fascinating.” The researcher and scholar is never too far from the surface with Wesley. Enthusiasm for new information bubbling up instantly and indiscriminately, regardless of its source, or the circumstances in which it arises.

I look at the journal, thumbing through a few pages. The writing is small and neat, with hastily drawn sketches punctuating the cursive text randomly throughout the diary. There’s a bookmark nestled at about the halfway point of the book. I open at a section headlined _Essie leaves the party_. I scroll quickly through the pages reading as I go. She describes in great detail the party I had attended on the last night of my human life. Through her descriptions I can once again see the room and the people within, only this time it is from anothers' perspective, other than my own. She hears my poetry and the conversation I had had with Cecily. She was there! It was real! Everything she had said about past lives was true. I had believed her. But this! Having faith was one thing, having irrefutable evidence was another altogether.

I quickly flick through the pages, scanning for the entries about Becky, in the 70’s. I look at Wesley, slightly confused. “If you have this, why are we driving…. somewhere?”

Wesley glances away from the road, “because reading this is not enough. We need to talk to someone who knows what’s going on.” He smiles at me hesitantly, as if unsure it’s the right emotion to be expressing.

“Why are you helping me, Wesley?” my eyes narrowing at him.

“Because, despite our differences, I can see how much you love her. She is a remarkable woman and I understand why you did what you did. Given the options, I probably would have done the same.”

Silence resumes as Wesley’s concentration is taken in manoeuvring the car into a parking space on a small side street lined with quaint shops and tenement style housing.

“We’re here.”

The bell tinkles happily, announcing our arrival into the compact little bookshop. From the rear of the shop an elderly African American woman appears, supported by an elegantly carved walking cane. Her hair is completely white, face heavily wrinkled, yet she remains stately in her posture. Her eyes are shiny and bright despite her advanced years.

“Welcome to my bookshop. My name is Sola.” She extends her hand to Wesley in greeting.

“Miss Sola, my name is Wesley Wyndham-Price. We spoke on the phone.”

“Sola will do just fine.” She gives Wesley a quick smile. “May I call you Wesley?

“Yes, please do.”

I roll my eyes from behind Wesley, clearing my throat loudly. This is getting us nowhere fast.

“Ah, Mr Pratt. How lovely it is to finally meet you. Becky told me so much about you.” The smile Sola gives me is genuine, but there is mirth shining from those eyes. I quickly close my mouth, having let my jaw drop at her words.

“Um, yes…” I stumble over my tongue. “Nice to meet you too, I’m sure.”

“Come in. Come in,” Sola beckons. “I’ve made you some tea.”

Seated around the table in the kitchenette at the back of the shop I realise it has changed very little in the thirty-odd years since Becky had been here. The description I’d read in Trinity’s journal vivid in my mind.

Sola prepares and pours the tea with practised grace. As the steam rises from the dark amber liquid in the porcelain cups, Sola motions towards the milk and sugar on the table, indicating  for us to help ourselves. She looks at me pointedly, “I assume you can drink tea, Mr Pratt? Forgive me if I am wrong.”

“Er… No. No, it’s fine. I can drink tea.

“Spike.” I correct her.

“Excuse me?” Sola responds politely.

“Call me Spike.”

“Of course.” She nods graciously. “Spike.”

She motions to the tea once more, with words to the effect that we don’t want to let it get cold and to help ourselves to the assorted cakes and high tea items arrayed on the plate before us. I pass on the cupcakes, human food doing little for me. Small amounts of liquid, other than blood, are fine. Alcohol, even better.

She turns to Wesley, rising slowly from her chair. “Now, Wesley. You said your name is Wyndham-Price?”

Wesley nods, his mouth full of cake.

“I Think I have something for you. Just a moment.” Sola walks slowly back into the bookshop, reappearing a few minutes later with a leather-bound journal in her hand. It’s similar in appearance to Trinity’s diary. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Wesley carefully opens the front cover of the journal, scanning the contents slowly. He looks up from the book, wide-eyed in wonder and reverence. “It’s my father’s Watcher’s journal! Where di…. I mean, thank you! But, where did you get it?”

Sola places her hand fondly on the leather binding. “This was given to my family for safekeeping many years ago. I have kept it hidden in the shop waiting for the rightful owner to present themselves. And here you are.

“Becky found it during one of her frequent visits. It’s cloaked, you see. Only someone who is meant to find it will be able to.”

“Thank you.” Wesley says again as he closes the journal and places it, with a little regret, on the table.

There’ll be time enough later for you to look at that, mate, I think at Wesley. Back to the matter at hand.

Possibly sensing my impatience – my knee jumping at high frequency under the table should have been a clue – Wesley prompts Sola to explain what she understands of reincarnation and my situation in particular.

“Well,” Sola begins, brows drawn together slightly in thought. “It might be best to start with the basics, the same way I described it to Becky when she came to me seeking advice on her unusual situation.”

I clear my throat to interrupt. “How do you remember all this after so much time?” suspicion flaring.

Sola looks at me steadily. “Becky was a unique and vibrant young woman with a very unique problem. One that I would very unlikely see twice in my life. Why wouldn’t I remember her?” Her back was straight in the chair at the affront my words had caused her.

With an almost imperceptible relaxation of her shoulders, Sola continues, “Hardly a day goes by when there’s not something that reminds me of her remarkable story. I have often wondered what became of her.”

“She’s dead.” I voice without thinking.

“I am aware of what became of Becky, Spike.” Her words, although spoken in an even tone with no hint of emotion, made me glance at Sola quickly. “I simply meant,” she continues, “I wished there had been a way to know her in her next lives, if she had more.”

Wesley speaks up, “She did. That’s why we’re here.”

He turns to me. “Spike, would you mind showing Sola Trinity’s diary?” My face drops as dread takes hold of my heart at the thought of letting go of my one remaining link to her, as she was.

Sola sees the hesitation and places a warm, papery hand over mine. Her smile is kind, “I won’t need it long, and it will be perfectly safe. I will hand it straight back when I’m done.” After a moment’s hesitation I hand her Trinity’s journal. I watch with some trepidation as she thumbs quickly but carefully through the handwritten pages of Trinity’s lives.

After what seems like an eternity but is, in reality, only fifteen minutes of concentrated browsing, Sola hands me back the diary. As I stash it quickly out of sight in my coat, she says, “Thank you, Spike. Once this is all over, I would very much like to borrow that from you again, if you’ll allow me?” Again I hesitate, but realise I am being irrational and nod my agreement to her request.

Looking back to the both of us, Sola takes a deep breath, “Where were we? Oh, that’s right. I need to explain to you about souls.”

 

                                                                       **************************************

 

 Twin flames!

The car ride back to Wolfram and Hart is completed in silence, both Wesley and I deep in our own personal contemplations. I marvel now at the understanding brought by Sola’s succinct words of explanation. There is no denying that Trinity and I are meant for each other. Hell, the universe demands it!

Darkness is descending as the sun sets behind the nearby hills. I hope Angel has headed Wesley’s instructions to bury Trinity and not taken matters into his own hands. Before I had left he seemed less than keen on seeing  Trinity come back, soulless or otherwise.

Turning someone into a vampire is not as cut and dried as it seemed, but I had managed it before with Harmony. I still wonder at the rationality of my decision there, cringing at the thought of harmony’s voice, incessant in my ear. Luckily, she had moved on. Angel had organised her a transfer to another branch, with a pay rise and an office. How could she refuse? One less complication is a good thing, I say.

The only problem remaining, and one Sola was not able to provide a solution for, was how to ensure that Trinity came back with soul intact. And if this was not possible, how to reinstate her soul once she was back.  The questions too painful to contemplate surfaced regardless. What if she didn’t want her soul back? What if she didn’t want me?

I close my eyes desperately trying to patch the wound in my heart, the gaping hole that had been left by Trinity’s absence. I remind myself that, had she not been gone like this, I may have seen her turned into something else, something unrecognisable, that she would never have come back from. I would have lost her forever. At least now there is still a chance.

 

Wesley had phoned Angel as soon as we left Sola’s bookshop. Together, they hurriedly  discussed the options available, and the best sect, belief or mystical being to make the options possible.

“The shamans had some success slowing the toxin. Maybe they know a way to bind the soul to the body?” Wesley suggested into the phone. He listened to the other side of the conversation before answering, “yes, quite.” There’s another short pause, “and if it can’t be done before she rises, do we know for certain her soul will be gone?”

This time there is a longer silence from Wesley. His research team had been working overtime to find out what they could about twin flames and vampires with souls making other vampires. Little was known about the twin flame phenomenon. Mix in the miracle of a vampire with a soul, willingly reinstated, being one of the twin flames, who turns the holder of the other twin soul, and you have an event in history without precedence. No one can predict what will happen.

Wesley ends the call and we head back to Wolfram & Hart. The drive back, done in silence, gives me the opportunity to read Trinity’s journal. I locate the section on Estelle’s life and begin to read.

“That minx!” I exclaim. So something did happen, well, almost happened with Angelus. There was something between them. Was he a soulmate? Uurgh! I shudder, the thought too  unpleasant to contemplate now. We will have words, Trinity and I, when she wakes.

Wesley looks at me sideways from the driver’s seat, eyebrow raised at my outburst. He was obviously too deeply entrenched in his own thoughts to worry too much about mine because he doesn’t pursue it. As long as he is working on how to keep trinity connected with her soul, I’m not concerned. He doesn’t really need to know.

The office is quiet, the day staff have gone home and the night crew have been reduced to the necessary few required to keep the place operating while we sorted out the coming of Trinity; ensouled or otherwise .

The debate still continues in Angel’s office. Gunn stands translator and mediator between Angel, Wesley and the congregated shamans, demon mages, alchemists and witches. They all offer ideas, most conflicting, as to what we may find when (if) Trinity rises as vampire, and how to overcome the reinstatement of her soul if it should have left her body.

As the evening wears on it seems to me they are still no closer to agreeing on anything. My mind frequently wanders to the passages I read from Trinity’s diary. What if I had just opened my eyes, my heart, would my life have turned out differently? If I hadn’t been so caught up in myself to realise Cecily wasn’t the one? A thought slowly manifests from wraith to solid form like someone walking out of the fog. What if the feelings I thought were for Cecily had actually been the tug towards Estelle’s soul? Essie had always been somewhere nearby at those parties. I swallow painfully at the idea. She had been so close and I had run away. I had run straight into the arms of Drusilla.

Drusilla. I wrench the diary from the inner pocket of my coat, turning quickly to the section near the end of Estelle’s story. I flick through the pages impatiently until I see some familiar text. Nearly there. I turn another page and scan the paragraphs. Yes, this is what I’m looking for.

“Hey, Angel I…” I interrupt.

“Not now, Spike.” Angel responds, not cloaking his annoyance at my interruption of their conversation.

“But…” is all I get out this time before Angel looks at my rather peevishly.

“Spike, why don’t you go…. somewhere else”

I square my shoulders. He’s not getting rid of me that easily. “Because, you pompous git, I know who can tell you if she’ll still have her soul.”

“Who!!??” All eyes turn to me in unison, with the chorus of voices all asking the same question.

“Drusilla!” Why are they looking at me like that?

Angel is the first to speak. “No.”

“Why not?” I am incredulous at his flat out refusal. “She’s seen the connections before!”

Angel’s eyes narrow. Has he finally realised the link? “The night she killed Essie.”

So, he had worked it out. Well, bully for him. “So, are you going to bring her in?” I ask. I was having mixed emotions about the idea myself.  Without a word Angel stands statue-like for a moment before nodding at Wesley who immediately picks up the phone.

As the handpiece is returned to the cradle Wesley turns again to Angel. “She’ll be here within the hour.”

That soon? Wesley pre-empting my unasked question answers, “We’ve been keeping tabs on her. Since Wolfram and Hart brought Drusilla in to turn Darla, and the incidents that happened because of that decision, we have been monitoring her whereabouts.”

“Incidents. That’s an understatement from what I heard.” I look at Angel, knowing the talk that had circulated in the demon world at his part in the “incidents” that ultimately led to the birth of a son who brought the world to the brink of destruction. His glower silences any further comment. I decide, prudently, to heed the warning. I do need his help, after all.

There is something bothering me. Trinity’s diary very clearly states the promise she made to Drusilla. Would Drusilla remember? Would she want to help me get the love of my life back? I think not. I voice my concerns to Angel, without going into graphic detail of the event but explaining enough that he understands that Drusilla may not want to be of assistance in this instance.

“That won’t be a problem.” His voice is flat, emotionless. It seems Drusilla had not been forthcoming with the details of what had happened to Essie but Angel knew there was more than Drusilla was letting on. He had heard the scream she had issued as she tore the poor girl’s throat out.

I still had some mixed emotions about Drusilla being involved in this but if it meant getting Trinity back intact I could endure anything. I was also quite prepared to see Drusilla suffer for the cause, if that is what it took.

Finding out if Trinity’s soul is still attached to her body is only half the issue. The circumstances are so unique that if we are lucky enough to find she is still whole, would she stay like that with the demon compelling her from within? If her soul has left her, pushed out by the demon, I know of only two ways to put it back in. The demon trials I had endured. But, the trials were a choice I freely made. How could you force someone to undergo something like that if they didn’t want to? Failure of such trials equals death. If she comes back without a soul will she feel the same about me? Will she want her soul back?

The only other way I can think of is one Angel knows first-hand; a gypsy’s curse. Did Wolfram and Hart have the whereabouts of Gypsies, I wondered. Probably. My musings are interrupted by a hurried knock at the door. Before anyone can grant permission to enter the door bursts open and  one of the security staff rushes into the room towards Angel.

“It’s happening. We have seen movement on the monitor.” He speaks quickly and quietly in Angel’s ear. It’s too soon. I look at the clock in fright. With the events of the evening, time has moved faster than I realised, the clock indicating it is well past midnight.

Angel, turns briefly to the congregated demons and mystics within the room, excusing himself and the rest of us, and asking if any among them know of a way to bind a soul to a body, could they please stay in case their services are required. The rest are free to go, with thanks. We don’t wait to see who stays, making our way to the private graveyard hidden in a secluded corner of the Wolfram and Hart grounds.

With Drusilla not here yet and Trinity preparing to emerge, the point of whether Drusilla could tell if Trinity still had her soul was moot. We would very soon know, one way or another.

As we arrive at the site of the freshly dug grave the soil is slowly undulating, pushing upwards. It won’t be long now. We gather around the grave, keeping a little distance so as not to be in the direct firing line of a newly emerged, fledgling vampire. If my heart still beat I imagine it would be drumming in my chest.

My mind drifts to unpleasant memories, making me shudder. The image of my mother surfaces, weak and sickly but still full of love for her son, changing to a cruel and wicked creature, devoid of love, too ready to wound with words and deeds. She was no longer the mother I knew, so I killed her. Oh, God! Please don’t let it be the same with Trinity. I couldn’t survive it. If I were to lose her now…. The thought didn’t bear continuing. As Wesley was apt to say, there’s still time.

The ground heaves aside, auburn waves emerging from the loose soil. Her face contorts to the visage of the demon when she realises so many people are so close around her. She’s at a disadvantage still half submerged in the heavy ground; self-preservation kicks in. The sight of her in her demon form has an unexpected effect on me. My heart, already full to overflowing with the knowledge she returns to the world, nearly explodes at the sight of her. I find it hard to contain the emotion. Mingled with the love and rejoicing is an ache lower down. Can I be aroused at the sight of her like this; like me?

 Slowly recognition surfaces as Trinity’s attention whips from face to face of those encircling her grave. I watch, with horror rising like bile in my throat, as she continues to behave like a wild beast cornered. As she finally emerges from the grave Trinity squats for a moment doing one last sweep of the expectant crowd surrounding her.

Her eyes pass over me with hardly a flicker before coming to rest on Angel who stands observing her in quiet wariness. In a move that seems to come out of nowhere Trinity launches at Angel, leaping into his arms, entwining her long legs around his waist. She sniffs his neck, gives it a playful nip, then licks him up the side of his face. I watch in mounting horror as she grinds her pelvic bone against Angel’s, who seems unwilling to move in case it sets her off in some way.

“Trinity, please!” The anguished shout has left my throat and I’ve stepped towards her before I can stop myself. She freezes before pushing out of Angel’s arms to stand, legs bent, arms raised, in a fighter’s stance, ready to defend against the oncoming attack.

My steps have brought me within her reach. I watch in horror and anguish as her face contorts further into a snarl of rage as her body swings and her leg extends with such speed and force I am unable  to defend against it. Her foot strikes me squarely in the stomach. All wind is knocked from my lungs in a rather ungraceful “Oooff!!” and I find myself sailing backwards through the air.

The stop is sudden and painful, and loud. I lay crumpled at the foot of what used to be the marble headstone to a neighbouring grave, the remnants of which now lie about me as dust and rubble. Trinity stares at me with a look of horror and pain mirroring my own, before doubling over, clutching her chest while issuing a hideous keening sound.

I don’t understand.

Her words come to me broken and almost unrecognisable, spoken through clenched teeth. “You! You did this to me!”

Before anyone can stop her, Trinity turns tail and sprints for the cover of the surrounding trees. Gunn lunges for her on her headlong sprint past him but she manages to sidestep his long reach, his fingers brushing the sleeve of her jacket ineffectually. Wesley cries out for her to stop and I see her speed decrease slightly as if there is a moment’s hesitation before she vanishes into the trees.

She is gone. She is gone, and I still don’t know if she came back whole, or something else entirely. Despair clutches my chest, squeezing.

I hear Angel speaking to a security guard, organising a search party. The company’s mystic trackers will be working overtime tonight. Wesley is muttering to Gunn rather animatedly and I catch part of the sentence, “her behaviour is not inconsistent with the symptoms of the Lazzariss toxin. Without tests I won’t know for sure, but we can’t rule out the possibility that turning her has effected the toxin is some way, and it, in fact, didn’t burn out when her body died.”

“No! NO!” my voice breaks with the strain of the words and the emotion driving them. It can’t be! “The demon toxin is gone. You tested it, Wesley. There’s got to be another reason.”

“Like what Spike?” Wesley answers in exasperation.

“What! You don’t think it could be the demon battling her soul?” frustration making me snap at Wesley in retort.

Maybe he hadn’t thought of this? The slow blink of an owl possesses Wesley’s face as his mind catches up to the idea.  His expression lends weight to this notion.

To strengthen my case, and perhaps convince myself, I explain, “I wallowed in insanity for weeks after getting my soul back. That was after the demon had a century to become complacent in his hold over me. Trinity’s demon has just been unleashed on the world and it has a huge handbrake, in the shape of her soul, shoved up its arse. I’d say it’s going to be mightily pissed off.”

“Yes, Yes! Spike, suppose you’re right, and her soul is still in place but there’s a demon trying to run the show. Normally the demon forces it out to take possession. It would go a long way to explaining her behaviour.” Wesley agrees.

It does? Yeah… Yeah, it does. I think, pondering my outburst. Was I grasping at a lost hope? I run the events of Trinity’s rising through my mind, slowing them to study the details. As she rises from the soft earth, her face flickers from joy to confusion to anger, all within a millisecond. Any vampires I have seen rise are quite comfortable in their own skin. They may not know straight away they are vampires but they are generally comfortable with their changed selves. As Trinity had stated, I had kept my humanity, yet I embraced my demon nature and revelled in the thrill of the hunt. Trinity had appeared conflicted.

That’s one point in the “yes, she may still have her soul” column. I move onto her behaviour towards Angel. I have to admit the demon is driving her actions here. They had a connection a century ago, so much so he wanted to turn her. And, not just turn her but make her his mate, his companion for as long as either shall live. A shudder passes over me. This is not what I need to be focusing on.

Chalk up one for the demon. But, I realise, not one for the Lazzariss toxin. Trinity was not raging mindlessly. I had seen hints of what that would look like when she had suffered the night terrors before I…. Before I turned her.

Move on to the next scene - Trinity reacting to my voice calling her name. In that action if was clear the vampire demon had lost control. I can only think that me calling to her triggered her soul again. It certainly appeared as if the battle being waged within was painful. I recall Trinity doubling over after she had kicked me away. She had clutched her chest. The rage she had displayed before she attacked me could be mistaken as a symptom of the toxin, but she had spoken to me. She blamed me for what was happening to her. Everything that Trinity had explained to us about the toxin’s effects was the opposite of her actions, despite the apparent rage. The Lazzariss toxin created mindless killing machines. If she had been overcome with the toxin, nothing would have stopped her from attacking the whole group standing around her grave. Instead she had run to the trees.

Trinity was right, of course. It was my fault. If I hadn’t changed her she wouldn’t be going through this battle. She would be going through something much worse. At least now she had a chance! One day she would understand. I would make her understand. I loved her, she would have to forgive me. After all, we were destined to be together. I bet the universe didn’t expect us to both end up vampires, especially not vampires with their souls, I chuckle darkly to myself.

There’s nothing left to do by the grave so we move away, back into the building towards Angel’s office. Wesley had the presence of mind to have a security guard videotape Trinity’s arrival and is reviewing the footage as he walks backs through the corridors, peering at the little screen attached to the side of the camera. The footage shows the events the way I recall them and I hear Wesley muttering under his breath, making similar observations to the ones I had already come to in my head. Good. He didn’t think she was succumbing to the Lazzariss demon’s toxin any longer. It did, however, raise another question to which we didn’t yet know the answer. If she still has her soul , would Trinity be able to keep it or would the demon force it out to gain control?

Two things needed to happen. Wesley or Angel, I didn’t care who at this point, needed to come up with a way to, or someone who could, keep her soul attached to her body. The second, but not necessarily in that order, was to find Trinity, and quickly.

“Sir!” A shout from behind, slightly out of breath, makes the whole party swing around to face the source of the voice. A lone security guard, looking a little flustered in his search for Angel, approaches at a run.

“Angel… Sir,” he quickly corrects himself of his forgotten respect towards Angel’s authority. Angel, seeing the urgency in this man’s behaviour, gives his go-ahead with a curt nod.

“Sir, there’s been an altercation in the lobby.” He is obviously upset at this event. Perhaps he’s worried he will lose his job, or possibly his life, as would have happened with the previous management of Wolfram & Hart.

When Angel says nothing he continues, “The vampire Drusilla arrived a few minutes ago. It happened to coincide with Ms Evans entering the lobby from another entrance. Some of my men were pursuing her. I believe she was attempting to escape through the front doors.

“Sir, the two appeared to know each other. Ms Evans forgot my men were chasing her and began circling Ms Drusilla as if she planned to attack. The two screamed at each other,” the guard blanches slightly at the memories, losing his composure momentarily. I can imagine all too well what that would have sounded like. I flinch at the imagined din. Those two had a reckoning coming. Essie had promised Drusilla a debt.

I can feel my face drop as I begin to panic. I know what Dru is capable of. Trinity is in trouble, despite her demon hunting experience and newly acquired vampire strength. Turning towards the door, I am on my way to help Trinity when a firm hand grasps my arm. Angel has stopped me mid-stride. I glare at him. There’d better be a bloody good reason why you’re stopping me from helping her, mate! I think angrily, yanking my arm from his grip. I look again at the guard and decide to stay for the moment.

The guard obviously still has more to tell. He pauses briefly to catch his breath, eyes flitting between me and Angel, before rushing on.

“There was a short scuffle as the two fought but Ms Evans seemed in pain, distracted, and the vampire Drusilla appeared to, well, she seemed to hypnotise her, before slashing her throat and draining most of her blood. When Ms Evans was unable to fight back, Ms Drusilla dragged her out through the front doors and drove away. Sir, we don’t know where she went but, we have people tracking her now.”

Angel nods at the guard keeping his impatience well in check. “Thank you, Anderson. Keep me informed. I need to know as soon as she’s located.”

With that the guard hurries back in the direction he came from. From what the guard had said I know that Dru has used the same fighting techniques she used to dispatch the slayer, Kendra. Only this time the slash across the throat wasn’t enough to kill a vampire, even a fledgling one. What did Drusilla want with Trinity?

I look at Angel. His scowl is deeper than ever.

“Oi, mate. Careful, or your face will stay like that.” I joke, immediately regretting my whim. One hundred years of pushing Angel’s buttons at every opportunity is a habit that’s hard to overcome.

Angel’s face becomes that of the demon. “Care to make any further comments, Spike?”

Wesley looks from Angel to me and back again. He seems astonished and overwhelmed. “Don’t you think we have more pressing matters at hand?” He pauses to make sure he has our attention. “What are we going to do to ensure Trinity keeps her soul?”

Angel seems slightly shaken at the question. “Are we sure she still has it?”

“Fairly sure.” Responds Wesley. I’ve been reviewing the footage…”

“Already done that.” I mutter through closed lips, under my breath. The scowl returns to Angel’s forehead but he decides against saying anything, much to Wesley’s relief. I’m sure Wesley sometimes feels he’s dealing with preternaturally strong five year olds with a penchant for death and destruction. He has the air of a strung out primary school teacher.

“Well, I did,” I pout. “ I did that thing that Angel did, with his photographic memory. It‘s a vampire thin….” Before I can finish my sentence Wesley cuts me off.

“Spike!” He snaps in exasperation.

“Oh, What! So, Angel gets to tell everyone how goo…”

“Spike!!” The three voices of Angel, Gunn and Wesley chorus in frustration at my outburst.

“Right, then!” I fold my arms, scowling at the ungrateful lot of them. It’s only the love of MY life who’s missing and in the clutches of the very insane Drusilla.

Wesley continues with his observations from the video footage. “From everything I can see here, I am fairly certain it’s her soul we see, embattled with the vampire inside her as it’s trying to possess her.”

“Like I would have said, if you’d let me,” I state. Total disregard is the only response I get.

Silence falls over Angel’s office as the door closes behind the four of us. I move to the drinks table and pour myself something strong and neat. I turn to move away and think better of it. These three, Wesley and Angel especially, are all that stands between making sure Trinity has her soul and losing her to the demon, and Drusilla, forever. I quickly pour another three glasses from the same crystal decanter I had poured my drink from. I don’t bother asking what they want. I don’t really care. They can be thankful I thought of them at all, after the way they treated me earlier.

No respect. That’s the problem. I move rapidly, shoving each drink into their unprepared hands, before I think better of it.

Each of them look a little bewildered but also grateful, sipping their drinks in silent thought. Gunn breaks the silence. “So, do we have any more information on who can put a soul back in a body?”

I look around the room for the first time since entering. It’s empty, apart from us. That means none to the mystic beings here earlier knew how to re-ensoul someone. This is not good news.

Wesley states he is waiting to hear back from his witch contact as one of the coven leaders may know something. He goes on to mention the demon trials I had endured but suggests they won’t work in this case because there’s no guarantee Trinity would want to go through them.

“That leaves only one other way we can be sure will work,” Wesley states, looking sideways at Angel. “A gypsy curse.” Angel turns decidedly green around the gills at the suggestion.

“Getting a gypsy to perform such a curse will not be an easy thing, especially when there’s no vengeance to be had.” Angel seems to have regressed to a much earlier time. A soft Irish lilt tainting his words slightly.

Thoughts are visible behind Wesley’s eyes as they whirl about, taking shape. “Yes, but if they have the magic to perform such a curse they may know how to achieve it another way. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to ask?”

“It could hurt, very much,” Angel states uncomfortably.

“So, get Wesley to ask.” I chime in. “That’s what you’ve got lackeys for, isn’t it? So someone else does all the hard work while you swoop in at the end looking like a hero?” All this standing around, without getting any closer to an answer, or to finding Trinity, is making me testy.

“ Spike, that really isn’t helping,” Wesley chastises.

“Too bad,” I mutter. I’ve lost interest, my mind having moved on. My thoughts have turned to my own soul. What makes it stay put? Why didn’t the demon try to turf it back out once it had been reinstalled? The demon certainly tried to assert control but the soul was omnipresent, administering a reality check and conscience booster shot at the first sign of an outbreak. I suspected it was the same for Angel but I needed to be sure.

I turn to Wesley, “We need to know why my soul stayed put after it was put back in with the demon. Angel’s too.”

Wesley’s mouth opens and closes once but no sounds emerge. I watch as Wesley is suddenly transformed from inanimate statue to a being of perpetual motion as his mission abruptly becomes clear. He picks up the phone, contacting his night shift research staff. He hastily tells them to find all the information on souls they can muster, as well as any information on the demon who performed the demon trials on Spike, and the curse the Gypsies performed on Angel. Along with anything on demonic possession and psychology, as well. “Yes! You heard me correctly, human psychology.” He puts down the handpiece with a sigh of frustration. The assistant at the other end of the call had sounded utterly perturbed and confused at the request.

He turns back to Angel who has been waiting, not so patiently with arms folded across his chest and shuffling agitatedly, for Wesley to explain what is going on. “We may have been looking at this all wrong. Spike said something that made me think it needed some further investigation.”

Angel looks questioningly at me before turning his gaze back to Wesley. The shuffling continues.

“Spike simply questioned why his soul and yours stay attached to your’ bodies. You didn’t experience anything that would indicate it had battled for its right to be there, when it was reinstated?” asks Wesley.

“No,” Angel replies, “ it was stuck fast. Not even a twinge.”

“Until I have studied the ritual the demon performed on Spike and the curse the gypsy’s gave you, I won’t know for sure. But, it seems possible that the solution isn’t magical at all. It’s all in her head.”

A thought strikes Wesley and he reaches for the phone. He hesitates for a moment, before checking his watch. It’s the early hours of the morning, whomever he was about to contact would unlikely be out of bed yet, if they are any sane human. The call will have to wait.

Wesley explains, “I need to speak to Sola. She has more information on souls, and more importantly, twin flames. Normally, for the vampire demon to take possession of the human host the body first has to die, with the soul vacating the body. For some reason Trinity’s soul has not moved on.

“When Trinity spoke about this being her last time - what if she was right, and her soul is ready to leave this plane of existence but not without its mate? What if the only thing keeping it here is Spike?”

“Me?” I look up, incredulous. We’d had so little time together. We’d barely had time to establish our connection again before we – I had torn her from life again. The thought that it had not been enough time or enough love to keep her here, fills me with trepidation.

I have to find Trinity!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11.

 

The darkness surrounding me is absolute. Where am I?

Cautiously, I move my hands around me. I appear to be lying on my back, satin-covered cushioning beneath me. I hear the whisper of my clothing rubbing against the fabric of my bedding. I guess it’s bedding. The back of my hands meet obstructions on either side of me as I move them out, away from my sides.

Similar satin-covered softness rises vertically on either side of me. I move my hands over the slippery surfaces, hands dipping at each of the tufting buttons. Very quickly, within a few hand-widths, the angle of my surroundings changes from vertical to almost horizontal, the surfaces following a convex arc, until my hands meet in the middle directly above me. I push tentatively at the cushioned surface, feeling the padding give, until my fingers press the hard surface underneath. Fear grips me as I realise where I am. I’m in a coffin!

But, why? My mind refuses to form any coherent thoughts on the subject. Random images flash before my eyes, none of them making much sense.

A feint noise coming from the corner of my coffin, down near my feet, grabs my attention. I wonder if this new-found curiosity is just an excuse, allowing me to ignore my predicament.

Focusing on the sound, I can recognise the low whir of electronics activating. A small glow blinks into existence from a single LED embedded in the small plastic box, with faceted panels taking up most of its front surface, mounted at the top left corner of my wooden prison. I squint at the intrusion of light in my confined space and wonder at the fact I have never heard a motion sensor make a noise like that before, for that is what I believe it to be.

With the light from the LED diffusing into the shadows surrounding me, I am surprised at how much detail I can discern from this one pinpoint. Beside the sensor, a tiny camera lens protrudes from the fabric. Why would someone put a camera in a coffin? What kind of sick game is this?

I thump on the coffin lid, the report returning the dull thud of a solid mass beyond the wooden panelling. Panic threatens to overwhelm me. An intense, hot ball grows inside my chest, threatening to consume me. Tangled, confused feelings - fear, anger, frustration, humiliation and love, joyous, complete love - crash down upon me in a tidal wave of emotion. I scream.

Blonde hair and stormy-sea eyes fill my vision, while the sensations of hurt, humiliation and joy this man has caused me, flood my memory. The pain in my chest grows. I press at the fabric of my blouse to get to my heart, trying to keep it from tearing itself apart. The memories of recent days rush back in, then recent months, then years. My mind is becoming whole again. I remember why I’m here; how I’m here. And it’s all Spikes fault.

I scream again.

Calm descends upon me, the burning agony within my chest confined, pushed down and shackled in the deepest recesses of my being. It’s not gone. I can still feel slight stirrings and tugging if I concentrate. Each time I do, though, the tugging intensifies. Best to push it out of my mind.

With a new sense of cool calm I review my situation. I know what I am. Just to be sure I concentrate on the hunger gnawing at my insides. With fingers touching my forehead and mouth, I feel the ridges contort the skin above my eyebrows and around my eyes. Pointed eye teeth protrude from beneath my top lip. An emotionless smile curls my mouth up at the corners, exposing more of my teeth. I am a vampire.

Ok, so as a newly sired vampire, what should I do? I know what I need to do; feed. I am hungry. But first, I need to get out of this coffin. With one punch I break through the wooden lid, with a satisfying sound of splitting timber and tearing fabric. I can make out the individual sounds of fibres breaking as the bonds of molecules are broken. It’s quite fascinating. I wonder if other vampires take such pleasure in their newly bestowed gifts.

Are they gifts? I certainly didn’t ask for this. I wasn’t even given a choice. Images of Spike, demon face, stalking predatorily towards me, cloud my vision momentarily. The suppressed flutter within me struggles with renewed zeal against the cool, emotionless demon now in residence. It is not pleased at this resistance.

A shower of dirt, that is becoming a steady stream, quickly brings my attention back to my immediate situation. I don’t fear suffocation, I no longer need to breathe, but the increase in dirt pouring into the limited space around me is starting to restrict my ability to move. With strong, sure movements, I break away more of the coffin lid and push up through the raining soil towards the surface, relishing my vampire strength, agility and surety of movement. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

The constant pressure of the soil around me is cloying. I may not have to breathe but I don’t enjoy the taste of dirt, or the feel of it in my hair. The sooner I’m out of here, the better. As my hand breaks through to the surface, I remind myself in time not to take that breath in preparation for my sigh of relief. I’ve managed to keep the dirt from my mouth to this point.

As I break through, pulling myself up, my new strength lifts my body weight with ease. Oh, this will be fun, I muse. What else am I capable of?

The tugging, annoyingly insistent sensation from deep within me renews its’ vies for my attention. There seems to be a new direction to its assertion, a pressure outwards. In a moments’ pause, I follow its path. Oh, you’re kidding! He’s here? Unbelievable, I think, pouting. I can’t even rise from the dead without Spike ruining the moment.

The quivering ball of soul, crushed mercilessly by the demon, leaps and expands at the thought of that sculpted jaw and soft lips, belying my thoughts. The pain caused by its resurgence and the demon’s subsequent measures to expel it, bring my demon face to the surface. I emerge from the grave, taking in my surroundings. So many people! Faces float all around me with molten expressions morphing from relief, to expectation and concern. Crouching now on top of the soft soil, I search the sea of faces for one in particular. My eyes fall, for the briefest of moments, on those eyes threatening to melt me with their gaze. Surely not, I think, as I force my eyes to continue scanning the people surrounding my makeshift grave. Surely he can’t be turned on at  a moment like this? I must think of something else.

The demon within me claws at my soul, attempting to reign in its belligerent attempt to reach its twin. With a concerted effort I push down the thoughts of the love, however brief, I had shared with Spike, as the demon wrangles my soul into submission once more. Again, calm settles over me. With this tiny reprieve my only course of action is to make a point to my soul and the demon within me that I will make my own choices. I scan each face again.

Wesley, human and vulnerable, is too easy to break and he could, too easily, bring my soul out of purgatory if I think too long on the time we had shared.

Skin like liquid chocolate, Gunn, is handsome and caring, but still human. Plus – and I wonder how much of this is my soul rearing its ugly head – he is more of a brother to me than anything. I don’t feel that way about him. Even as a vampire I’m not going to invent lust where it doesn’t exist.

That leaves Angel. We had something, long ago. He, as Angelus, had wanted me to join him in eternity. Could there still be something now? Only one way to find out. I launch into his unsuspecting arms, wrapping my legs around my waist. All my senses are heightened. I revel in the sights and sounds, my speed and grace, and strength. What a rush!

Supporting my own weight with ease upon Angel’s tense body, I take in the smell of him. My nose brushes the skin on his neck, bringing goose bumps to the area. I nip him playfully feeling his growing arousal pressed against me. I push back in response, lust imbuing my body and senses. I taste the air on his skin as my tongue trails from his jaw, flitting over his ear, causing a sharp intake of breath as Angel’s only response to my provocations, before finishing at his stubbled, sandpaper-like cheek.

A movement, accompanied by an anguished whimper that can only come from one person, brings me out of my tender ministrations. Damn him! The demon snarls within me at the abrupt and forceful resurgence of my soul.

With one lithe movement I am on the ground, facing Spike in his tormented approach. My inner turmoil writhes and roils at his proximity. With a speed and grace that takes me by surprise, I plant a kick squarely in his abdomen. I watch him sail through the air to land against a marble headstone, obliterating it with the force of the impact, while my demon applauds my actions.

As Spike struggles to sit up, I watch the emotions play across his face. Horror and incomprehension at what just happened mingles with the love emanating from him like a beacon. My own beacon echoes in response, redoubling the pain of the internal turmoil to the point where I can’t stand straight. I curl in on myself, trying to force the pain down. I see Spike try to rise from the stone rubble, small particles of dust falling from his clothing with each movement.

The anguish and torment manifest in words, “You!” I snarl through clenched teeth, “You did this to me!”

I can‘t stand it any longer. I have to get out of here, get away from him; from Spike. The pain of being near him is too much. Why does it hurt like this? I’ve watched other vampires rise from the grave. They don’t seem to go through this.

I need space to think. I can’t think like this, with the pain. The trees! Their cool dark shadows come into focus as if I’m noticing them for the first time. In them I can see sanctuary. I run.

Gunn lunges at me but I sidestep him easily, too easily. Was he even trying? I’m nearly there, almost safe among the shadows and leafy quiet. The sound of a familiar voice, full of loss and yearning, reaches me across the clearing, calling my name. My steps falter at Wesley’s shout. His voice brings back memories of tangled limbs and breath heavy with desire. What if I could lose myself like that again in his embrace? No! No, I’m not the same person. I’m not even a person. My legs pump harder, propelling me swiftly into the trees. The sounds of my pursuers dwindle quickly behind me as I make my way further into the shelter of low lying branches. Now I have time to think.

                                   **********************************************

 

There’s a powerful blue pulse and suddenly I am being propelled backwards through the air at high velocity. My landing is anything but graceful and I lie momentarily dazed, spread-eagled upon the ground. I raise my hand, a little shakily, to look at my palm where I had touched the fence. There are dark spots of arcing that fade as I watch in fascination, palm tingling as it heals. I look dubiously at the mesh fence that appears to be Wolfram & Hart’s boundary line. The sign I spotted a short distance away indicates the fence is electrified. That’s not electrified! I groan. It has to be some mystic barrier spell. What’s the bet my touching the fence has set off an alarm somewhere and they know where I am. Damn it! Time to move.

I move back into the trees as stealthily and quickly as I can. I need to get off this property, get away from everyone. The closer I get to the building and to a certain occupant, the more discomfort and disquiet I experience.

Having now traveled the length of the boundary fence I realise that there is no escape from outside the building. I’m going to have to go out through the building, straight through the front door.

From the distance, muffled footsteps and whispered voices of the security team reach me through the foliage, searching for me, I assume.  I listen intently. With my new vampire enhanced hearing I am able to discern which direction they’re coming from, how many of them there are, and how long it will take them to get to me. I can only assume they will not be hampered by the lack of light in this suburban woodland, guessing they use some form of night-vision goggles or mystic enhancement for just such occasions. It will make them tricky to avoid but, as a hunter, I was able to track, hunt and evade all kinds of monsters with a fair amount success. My new abilities will only aid in my current endeavour.

Hiding amongst the shadows, I wait until the last possible moment of being discovered before leaping high into the canopy of one of the larger trees. My strength and speed are exhilarating. I really am enjoying my vampire abilities. But does it mean I have to be a killer?

From my vantage point high in the trees I watch the guards moving stealthily below me. They approach the area staggered and unevenly spaced. I can see they are not trained in flanking manoeuvres, leaving the stragglers open to attack, should someone want to. And at this point, I want to. I’m hungry. I haven’t thought about food since the grave, but now that I have, it’s all I can think about.

A lone guard left behind by the rest of the team creeps beneath my vantage point. Silently, I drop from the branches high in the tree to land behind the unsuspecting guard. The demon rejoices as I grab him around the shoulders, pulling him to me. The warmth of his body seeps through his clothing so I can feel it radiating, with each beat of his heart, against my now cool skin. I hear his heartbeat quicken as he struggles against my hold on him. I reach one hand up, wrapping it around his forehead, pulling his head away from me slightly, to expose his straining neck.

His jugular stands proud with his efforts, making it easy for me to discern in the muted light beneath the trees. The sight of the blue, shining through his stretched skin, makes my mouth water. “Hold still,” I murmur in his ear, “I haven’t done this before.”

The impulse to sink my vampire teeth into his neck, to feel the blood pump down my throat until his heart stops, then discard his body as someone disposes of an empty chip packet, is so strong I begin to quiver with expectation.

The ball of heat and light within me burns its way to the surface as my teeth sink into the soft, heated flesh. I taste salt from the sweat on the man’s skin, along with dust from his trek through the wooded grounds, and the metallic tang of his deodorant where particles of the spray had come to rest after his earlier ablutions. The smell and taste of him is intoxicating, causing the demon to rejoice in a triumphant dance, forcing my soul back into momentary submission.

The man’s struggles weaken as he draws nearer to death. I hear his heart start to labour, trying to pump blood to his major organs, blood that no longer exists within his body. With considerable effort, amid screeches of fury from my resident demon, I release my hold on the guard, watching his body crumple to the ground where he lies, gasping like a fish out of water in his panic to live.

I take quick steps backwards away from his prone body. My soul once again burns bright in my chest. I’ve done it! I’ve managed to feed and not kill him. I can do this!

The battle within me rages on. Damn soul! I can do this, why doesn’t it just leave me already and save me from this agony? But, I think wryly, could I have done that, not killed, without it? Would it have bothered me if I hadn’t stopped?

The questions will have to wait until I’m free of this place. I hear the search team coming back towards me. Someone has noticed their team mate is missing. I turn and run, towards the building, and hopefully, towards freedom.

 

More guards appear from around the corner of the building just as I reach one of the more secluded back entrances. There must be monitors everywhere, I think, glancing around briefly in a vain effort to ascertain the whereabouts of these elusive cameras.

It really doesn’t matter, I remind myself, wrenching the door open. The lock explodes with some satisfaction as timber and metal are split and buckled. I really do enjoy this strength too much, I muse once again, as the glee builds. My legs pump as I sprint down the hallway, grin splitting my face.

I hear my pursuers enter through the smashed door in the hallway I have only just vacated. As I near the centre of the building the noise of its occupants increases along with my chances of being caught. As I round a corner, turning into a new hall, a door to the left of me opens. My hunter reflexes, now amplified with vampire speed and strength allow me to sidestep the employee as she unwittingly walks out of the doorway directly into my path. I can’t avoid her completely and manage to clip the armful of papers and binders she cradles close to her chest.

The papers flutter and spiral to the floor creating a wide carpet at her feet. I hear many disillusioned utterances from her as the breeze created by my rapid passing carries the papers further afield.

“Sorry,” I call back over my shoulder, as I continue my headlong sprint towards freedom. I glance back quickly at my handiwork. The woman stoops to pick up her paperwork, trying desperately to put it back in order as she collects it from the floor. At least she will slow down the guards behind me.

I had heard the guards on their shoulder mics radioing in their location to the control room. I know I can’t get away from them. The surveillance system is too thorough. The best I can hope for is to stay ahead of them long enough to make it to the front door, and hopefully, to freedom. Freedom, and time to think, that’s what I needed.

I can’t think now, though. There are too many influences and people wanting me to choose, within the confines of these walls. While I am running the demon is quiet as I am neither fighting it nor giving in to my vampire nature, and my soul is at rest for the same reasons. So, I keep on running.

The office spaces and surroundings I am currently sprinting through are becoming more familiar. Finally, I’m getting closer to the central foyer that leads to the front door. Only a few more turns.

With a renewed burst of speed I close the distance to the foyer, and freedom. More people come into view, forcing me to slow to avoid some nasty collisions. Nastier for them, I imagine, than for me. But still, it would hurt a bit. People mill about the foyer, some signing in, others preparing to leave, or just on their way to another part of the building. The doorway is so close now. My focus narrows until it is all I see. I put my head down and charge.

Without warning, my focus is pulled from the siren call of the outside world to that of a woman’s face. The woman approaches where I have slid to a halt, tripping and back-stepping in my confusion and shock. Her movements are graceful, as if her steps are part of a dance to music no one else can hear.

Drusilla!

“Bad grand-daughter,” she chastises me in her sing-songy voice. “Grand-mummy is going to have to teach you a lesson!”

I shake off the confusion, trying to assess the level of threat Drusilla poses to me. The milling crowds have created a void at the centre of the foyer, standing out of the way. Perhaps sensing the impending threat to live and limb this situation could result in. My fighter instincts kick in, as I take up a defensive stance, ready to shield an attack, or launch my own should I see an opening.

Drusilla and I circle cautiously around one another at the edge of the spectator-rimmed make-shift ring that, until seconds ago, was the foyer to an attorneys’ office. She quietly and dreamily mutters about Spike and, as I am now a vampire and we are family, the promises of the past don’t matter anymore. All the while her movements are reminiscent of a wild cat stalking her prey.

But, I think, somewhat smugly, so are mine. With my hunter training and vampire reflexes I am a match even for Angel. A low snarl issues from my throat as I see an opening to attack Drusilla. She seems momentarily distracted, her focus shifting to something happening behind me. I lunge, but she seems to pre-empt my move and stands straight, raising her hand in front of her face, two fingers raised, their tips pointed in a “V” towards my eyes. She moves them slowly back towards her own eyes, pointing at herself, drawing my focus with them.

“Look at my eyes, lovely,” she croons, as I unwittingly oblige her request. “Be in my eyes,” she continues, swaying gently side to side. Without knowing why I begin to sway with her in unison. The dance continues for a second before Drusilla, still swaying gently, croons at me, “Be in me.”

My vision clouds, the world in front of me blurring with the world of memories inside my head, reality mingling with imagination. I feel Spike’s teeth at my throat once more, but this time I am ready, willing. As I sink to the floor, my life’s blood seeping through my fingers, I feel cool hands on me, cradling me. I am lifted, floating away through the front doors of my final resting place, as I imagined I would run. I am free. I am gone.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

 

I open my eyes, vision slightly blurred but clearing quickly. The parallels of my current situation to that of Essie’s are not lost on me. I look around at what appears to be the inside of a barn or stable of some kind. The floor is strewn with scattered hay and I sit on a lone chair in the middle of the room.

With slow, deliberately subtle movements I test the bonds I discover on my wrists and ankles. Déjà vu much?! I scowl at the predicament in which I find myself. Drusilla, in her wicked insanity, has gone to great lengths to replicate the surroundings in which she first found me – found Essie - over a hundred years ago; surroundings where she had torn Essie’s throat out for trying to take Spike and Angel from her.

Essie had made her a promise as she bled out into Drusilla’s mouth. It is a promise I intend to keep, now more than ever. Or, do I? I decide to push the thought from my mind. I couldn’t delve into those memories at the moment; my soul jiggles and pulsates at the thought of those previous lives and the search for William that had ended in a stable very much like the building I am in now.

I look around again at my surroundings. The stables, the chair, my bindings, even, all part of Drusilla’s mind games. Mind games meant to torment, confuse and unsettle her victim. This was a game at which Angelus had been adept. He taught Drusilla everything she knows, I thought, almost admiringly.

Well, I had stopped being a victim when Becky had died.

Drusilla decides, at this moment, to grace me with her presence. She saunters back into the room, a sublime smile on her lips. She is not alone.

Behind the waifish form of Drusilla stands a hulking, shaggy figure. I stare in disbelief. Is that a werewolf? My mind races, I know that there are vampires and demons, I’ve fought and killed both. Until now, though, I had thought little of werewolves. Without visual proof they were nothing more than myth. Well, here was proof, standing less than a few body-lengths away.

Drusilla trills gleefully, clapping her hands together rapidly at the fingertips, when she sees me staring agog at the massive, hairy dog-like creature that paces impatiently behind her.

“Do you like him?” Drusilla croons, reaching up to scratch the fur at his neck affectionately.

“Good doggy,” she coos to him as she leans in, kissing him on the muzzle. He lets out a growl but it doesn’t sound like a warning. I turn away, looking for the exits whilst tugging more seriously on my ropes. This is getting way too freaky, I decide. Time to bail on this déjà vu setting! And, ditch kooky Dru and her shaggy plaything.

 “You can’t leave, I haven’t had any fun yet,” Dru states, seeing my struggles. My wrists are starting to burn. “Naughty granddaughter, trying to ruin grand-mummy Dru’s fun before it’s started. Do your wrists burn? I soaked the ropes in holy water.” She looks at me, her eyes big and innocent.

“Now, let’s see if we can do something about this pesky soul,” she smiles, picking up a flask from the floor. I hadn’t noticed it before as it had been hidden in one of the drifts of hay. Drusilla opens it slowly, frowning slightly as she moves around my chair, looking me up and down. When she stands in front of me again her expression changes to that of a decision made.

Drusilla leans close to my ear, whispering, “And when you’re free of it - all evil, like you’re supposed to be - will you hurt me like this too? Spike won’t hurt me anymore; he doesn’t want me, now he has a soul. He won’t want you either.

“They’ve all abandoned me. Angel burnt me; tried to kill me! Then he took my Darla away. Made her turn herself to dust, he did. Us girls have got to stick together. I can have a family again.”

Slowly, she reaches out towards my left hand, making sure I am watching her closely, and tips the flask up enough to allow the liquid within to drip out onto the back of my hand.

The pain is immediate. I feel the demon writhe and scream inside me trying to draw itself away from the blessed liquid on my hand. Despite my best efforts to contain the hurt, a small moan escapes from between my clenched teeth.

A shocking thought strikes me through my discomfort. If I can feel the demon pulling away, trying to retract into my body, does this mean that it has not bonded with me completely? Do other vampires experience this feeling of separateness from the demon within them, or are they one entity once the transformation is complete? Could the presence of my soul be hindering the completion of my transformation: if somehow, the demon could be forced out?

I’d be dead. If the demon were to leave me now I would die. My mind reels at these thoughts. The pain in my wrists and the back of my hand seem insignificant in the light of these revelations. Everyone had been worried what would happen to my soul if I turned, when now I realise it is the demon that’s important. Without my soul I can still live. Without my demon I am dead and my soul moves on regardless. I can always get my soul back. Spike did it. I can too.

Drusilla’s face clouds over as she realises she has lost me and pours more holy water onto my already enflamed skin.

I stifle another moan, blinking through the vapours rising from my hand. I had asked for death but now I realise I didn’t know what it was I was asking.  I had died and now I am alive again. This life, **this** is my last life, with or without a soul. Spike had taken my death out of my hands, making the decision for me, giving me another chance. Despite his reasons being selfish ones; wanting me to be with him, not wanting to lose me, I would have to thank him – if I got the opportunity.

Even if undead, I am alive, I feel alive and I want to stay that way. There may be limitations to my condition, but a new world had been opened up to me.

My epiphany is quickly interrupted as Drusilla brings my attention back to her. She’s pouting. “You’re supposed to be paying attention when I torture you! It will make you free, the way Angelus freed me.”

She takes my chin in her hand looking into my eyes, “Don’t you want to be free of your soul, to let the vampire run free?

“I saw the stars falling, burning up around you.” Her grip on my jaw tightens, tilting my head back and forcing my mouth open. She brings the flask of holy water up into my line of vision before slowly pouring it down my throat. All I can do is struggle.

The burn is excruciating, like acid and broken glass flowing down my throat to swirl in my stomach, tearing me apart from the inside.

I try to laugh, I can’t help it. If it’s my soul she wants to threaten she’s going the wrong way about it. My soul is sitting pretty at the moment while my demon writhes within me, seeking a means of escape from the torturous blessed liquid Drusilla is administering.

The burning makes me gag and gurgle as my insides bubble. The laugh is cut short as I choke on my dissolving insides. Drusilla grabs my head between her hands forcing me to look into her eyes as she searches mine, looking for something. A calculating look settles over her face. “My dollies don’t like the water, maybe your insides don’t either. Should I have a look?”

I sneer at her, trying desperately not to show fear. I have no doubt when Drusilla says have a look, she means rip me open to peer inside. “Oh, no Drusilla, you’re doing just fine.” I try to clear my throat, my voice raspy from the holy water. I glance around, frantically seeking a distraction, “In fact, I think your werewolf might be feeling left out.”

I look towards the beast pacing the edge of the room on all fours. He certainly seems interested in what is happening. Drusilla’s focus now moves to her pet – if that’s what he is. Could this be the distraction I need to facilitate my escape? The holy water has made me momentarily weaker, and I struggle futilely against my bonds.

The werewolf stalks towards Drusilla on all fours, rising as he reaches her. He nuzzles into her shoulder and I see the pink of his tongue on her neck. She giggles as if a teenager, giddy with the ministrations of her lover.

With a tilt of her head, Drusilla turns to me. “I gave him my blood, now he’s such a good doggy!” The werewolf, more beast than man, grasps Drusilla roughly around the waist, pressing his muzzle against her neck. The long curved teeth rake across her pale skin.

“Rrrrrrooowwww,” the high-pitched growling noise issues from Drusilla as her eyes close in obvious pleasure. The beast, encouraged by her noise, spins her around pushing her towards the wall, forcing her to bend forward. With her hands resting against the wall for support the wolf claws at the materials of her skirt pushing them out of the way.

I force my eyes away, trying to tune out the noises. “The ultimate doggy style,” I mutter grimly, trying to push the images from my head, despite my demon dancing in glee at the bestial display of carnal desire. I retreat into myself, closing out the world of sounds and smells around me, and the pain still burning sullenly within me, using meditation techniques I had learnt as a human.

A clicking noise, along with a familiar rumble brings me back to the surface of consciousness. “Wake up, love,” the voice murmurs again, fingers clicking in front of my face. My eyes slowly focus on the white blonde hair, strands separated into its little waves, before moving my gaze to those beautiful eyes the colour of storm-tossed waves. My heart tightens at the sight of him.

“Spike, what are you doing here? Where’s Drusilla?” I gush, trying desperately to comprehend.

“Don’t worry about Drusilla, love. I’m here because we need to talk.” He sounds so clinical. My heart clenches at the calculating and sarcastic timbre of his voice.

“Aren’t you going to save me?”

“Save you? Why would I want to save you?” he asks, his laughter, so sexy but so callous. All the warmth I had heard, all the love of the last few days, gone. “You’re exactly where I want you.”

I can’t keep the hurt from my eyes. I don’t want him to see me like this; weak and at his mercy.

Spike looks at me for a moment as a grin spreads across his lips, lips I had kissed only a day before. “Oh,” he laughs coldly, “you didn’t think I actually cared, did you?” He laughs again. “Did you believe me when I told you I loved you?” His hand caresses the side of my face, from which I try desperately to pull away.

His hand grasps my face, fingers digging cruelly into my cheeks, forcing me to look at him again. “It worked, didn’t it? You wanted to believe, so bad, that I had feelings for you. It was almost too easy.”

My heart, despite no longer beating, could still break. I felt the cracks widen, pain shooting through my chest, through my soul, at his words.

“Why?” I ask pathetically.

“To get into your pants, pet. When I saw you again, all grown up, I realised the opportunity I had missed with Becky. But you were so much riper." His hand not gripping my face, traces a line over the swell of my breast and down to my hip before changing direction to push between my thighs to cup my mound.

“And you certainly didn’t disappoint,” Spike continues callously, “All soft and giving; so trusting. So willing to give yourself to me, entirely.” He licks his lips as if savouring the taste of my naivety and his betrayal.

“But….. your soul?” I rasp weakly.

“People with souls perform atrocities every day, pet. Using you to get a bit will hardly tip the balance of me being sent to hell. I’m already going.”

I try to close my eyes, to block out the sight of his once resplendent face as my heart shatters into a thousand pieces. No. Not my heart, my soul. I feel like I’m dying, it is dying. The shards scatter within me, dissolving, slowly disappearing as the waves of his betrayal wash over me.

The demon roars in triumph. It fills the spaces now vacated by my soul. The shame and hurt of Spike’s manipulations are gradually being replaced by cold, emotionless nothing as the demon blurs and melds within me.

A flutter: the tiniest of movements.

It takes me a second to even recognise it as such. The flutter is stronger this time. The minutest shard of soul still clings tenaciously to me. And it can sense him. The pull is directed beyond the visage of Spike in front of me.

I raise my eyes to look at him again. Just to be sure. He stares back, his eyes creasing slightly, narrowing, as he watches my face. A hiss explodes from his lips as he whirls towards the door. Damn! I’ve never been any good at hiding my emotions. I look back again to see Drusilla standing in a fighter’s crouch, where Spike stood less than a second before, the illusion shattered.

It was a trick! One of Drusilla’s dirty, rotten mind fucks!

How could I have been so ready to believe the lies? How did I not realise? While trying so hard to keep the agony of my soul at bay I had nearly lost everything.

The demon roars in frustration and torment as the shards of my fractured soul creep inexorably back, pulling together like little pools of mercury, the tug and pulse of their twin flame making them stronger.

He’s almost here! My heart burns, glowing like the sun at Spike’s proximity. In one single thought my world explodes and reforms. He’s here for me. He’s come for me, and I love him for it! I want to be here for him. I want to live and love, for him – only him.

Within me my soul blazes like nothing I have felt before. Its white-hot presence explodes within me engulfing the demon in its light. The heat and light merge with the demon, fusing the two to my being.

My soul firmly in place, the demon no longer writhes at its presence, but is firmly settled within me. But not just settled. It has become me.

The two co-exist, polar opposites but no longer in conflict. I liken it, abstractly, to a magnet; two opposing forces housed within one object, one not able to exist without the other.

With his usual flourish, Spike enters the stable in a swirl of black leather and spiked blonde hair.

His demon face crinkles in anger as he looks from me, quickly scanning my bloodied, burnt and bruised appearance, to Drusilla poised near the door ready to strike.

“Get away from her, you bitch!” he growls.

“Now, Spike. We were just having a little fun.” She turns back to me.

“You’ve been playing a little game with your grand-mummy, haven’t you, dear?”

My eyes flick to a movement in a dark corner behind Spike. He’s too busy focusing on Drusilla to notice.

“Spike!” I yell, trying to point at the unseen danger. My hand movements are limited to raising a finger and waggling it in the general direction I want to indicate. Spike takes a step towards me, searching wildly for the source of my distress.

No, you idiot! I berate him silently, “Behind you!”

He spins towards his furry attacker as the beast swipes a huge clawed hand at his head. With practiced skill and speed, Spike ducks below the claws and rains blows into the werewolf’s abdomen. The two dance and sway, trading blows in a fatal waltz that leaves me humming with pride at my beautiful man’s skills.

Not one to miss an opportunity at a jibe, Spike gives Drusilla a quick sideways glance, “Your new pet, Dru?” The dog stumbles backwards from a well-placed blow.

Before Drusilla can answer I chime in, “Yeh! He’s a real lap dog.” I point towards the intersection at the top of my thighs, opening my legs suggestively. Spike glances enquiringly at me as the werewolf regains its footing. He pulls a face as understanding dawns.

“Oh, Ohhh….Eww! Dru, that chaos demon was bad enough, but this has to be an all-time low,” Spike admonishes in disgust. The beast growls, throwing itself back into the fight with renewed vigour. It has obviously taken offense at Spike’s words.

Drusilla crouches, coiling for a strike as soon as an opening appears. I watch in horror, knowing that Spike will be in trouble if she finds that opening.

Think, damn you! Remember your hunter training, goddamn it! I reprimand myself at my inaction. I’m a vampire, I remind myself, blessed with vampire strength and speed. How hard is it to get out of a wooden chair?

At that moment, Spike reaches into his coat and produces a shiny, wicked looking dagger, draws his arm back quickly and buries it to the hilt in the wolf’s heart. An unearthly howl issues from the beast as it sinks to the floor at Spike’s feet. A high pitched keening wail resonates from Drusilla before she turns her murderous gaze on Spike.

She doesn’t attack. I watch her, wondering what is going on. She growls, a low predatory sound as she stalks towards Spike in a wide arc, forcing him to turn and step away from her in order to keep her in his line of sight.

Panic grips me. There’s something not right with this picture. “Was that knife silver?” I question Spike, almost yelling at him in my unease.

“Silver?” He looks at me quickly before turning his attention back to the stalking vampire in front of him. He’s now placed strategically between Drusilla, in front of him, and the werewolf, at his back: Drusilla’s plan all along. The shaggy beast rises from the ground, surprisingly graceful in its movements, slipping the knife from its chest.

“Silver. Werewolf, right!” Spike kicks himself at his oversight. He wasn’t to know there’d be a werewolf here, but he should have realised the knife wouldn’t kill it. The beast launches at his back trying to grab him, drawing his neck towards those gnashing teeth. Drusilla rushes his exposed front.

Using the beast’s hold to his advantage, Spike picks up both feet kicking Drusilla squarely in the chest, throwing her backwards into the solid slab wall of the stable. She crumples to the floor but quickly shakes if off, rising to her feet.

Using the momentum of his kick, Spike smashes his head back against the beast’s snarling snout. There’s a satisfying crunch as bones break, and the werewolf drops Spike as it stumbles backwards. Its momentary distraction is all Spike needs. He dives for the blade lying on the ground, rolling as he picks it up. His momentum brings him to his feet just behind and to the left of the growling beast. Spike spins on his heel, bringing the blade of the knife hard against the wolf’s throat. With one slashing motion the dagger parts flesh and sinew. The wolf’s lifeblood spills out over its hand as its groping fingers try to stem the blood loss. Spike releases the body, letting it crumple at his feet, as a wail issues from Drusilla, its murderous intent unmistakable.

“You killed my doggy!” she keens as she stalks Spike. Again, she forces him to circle to keep visual contact. I look at Drusilla who stands directly opposite me, Spike placed in between us. His eyes never leave hers. “Now I take what’s yours!” she screeches, as she bolts past Spike, making a beeline for my prone figure, still strapped to the wooden chair.

At the first sign of her approach my hunter instincts kick in. Finally! I muse. With a leaping push backwards the chair and I rise off the ground, flying and falling. The back legs of the chair strike the ground first, the force of the fall splintering them in a cacophony of loud cracks. The arms break away from the back of the chair as the frame splits apart. Using the backwards momentum of my fall I continue to roll, pushing out and away from the constraints of the chair. Timber and rope fall from my limbs as I come to my feet, spinning to defend against the onslaught of womanly vampiric rage.

I sidestep her headlong rush, moving into a diving roll next to the debris of the broken chair. Drusilla’s next charge I take head on. Her arms swipe, nails angling for my throat with deadly grace. As I move to block her swings, her legs strike out at me, one foot grazing my knee.

Too close, I chastise. I’ll have to do better than that. Each of my attacks seems to be pre-empted. Is she using precognitive sight to win this? No her sight doesn’t work like that, she’s just a wily fighter, I decide. Time to try something new.

From the corner of my eye, I see Spike prancing from one foot to another looking for an opening into the fight. Please don’t, I plead silently. This is my fight. I made a promise.

My pre-occupation with Spike and his eagerness to get involved has left me vulnerable. Drusilla grabs me, spinning me around until my back is pressed against her front, her hand poised over my throat, ready to rip it out, remove my head, and turn me to dust.

 I reach up to her arm, placing my hand firmly around her wrist as if trying to stay her hand. I feel the smile creep onto her lips at my weak, defensive reaction. My other hand flashes over my shoulder grabbing the collar of her clothing. With a flick of my hips I use my centre of gravity to dislodge her from her feet, hauling her over my shoulder.

With lightning-fast vampire reflexes she manages to land on her feet but she is right where I want her. With a slight flick of my wrist the sliver of chair leg slides from the sleeve of my jacket. Grabbing Drusilla around the throat while her back is still to me, I press the shard of timber against her spine and push.

“I’m sorry, my love,” I whisper softly to Spike. His mouth is open in a look of shock.

“Spike?” Drusilla’s little girl voice calls to him in frightened incomprehension. The timber shard I hold presses cruelly against her heart, having pierced her spine, rendering her paralysed.

“I made a promise,” I continue, my voice soft. My words, heavy with the regret and elation of the impending conclusion to the promise made over a century ago. “Forgive me.”

“Spike,” Drusilla pleads as Spike’s face hardens to her plight, “I love you.”

I thrust the wooden sliver hard through her chest. Her body powders, falling in waves of dust to coat the straw on the floor of the stable. Spike’s face returns to human as his eyes turn away.

I crumple. My reserves of strength have been depleted; used in the fight for my life, the fight to fulfil a promise to make Spike mine. In keeping that promise I may have destroyed the only possibility I had of being with him. I had just destroyed his sire. Would Spike be able to forgive me?

Slowly, with great effort, I push myself up onto my feet. I turn towards the door and start walking. Each step is like moving lead boots, my soul screaming for me to go back the other way. Hard arms grab me roughly around the middle, spinning me about wildly. I look up into sea-grey eyes, welling with tears.

“Where do you think you’re going?” his voice is thick and gruff will emotion.

“I…” honestly, I’m not sure where I was going. “…I wanted to give you space,” is all I can come up with on short notice.

He grips me tighter, pulling me to his chest. “Drusilla may have been my sire, but she was evil. She didn’t have a soul. We have fought across centuries to be in this moment, to be together. Do you think I would let you walk out on me, now?”

I notice with some curiosity that he no longer feels cold to me, he just feels normal. As normal as a bleach blonde, marble Adonis sculpture of a vampire gets, anyway. My fingers idly trace his skin through the rents in his t-shirt. His skin has already started to heal from the slicing ferocity of the werewolf’s claws. I pause at the sharp intake of breath my touch has caused. I look up, searching for those deep sea pools, not sure what I’ll find, still doubting our connection. I had spent so long looking for it and not finding it, or having it ripped from me, that now I have it firmly within my grasp, it all seems too surreal.

As I look into those seething pools of emotion I am sucked into them. In the frantic need to turn the surreal into the real I clamp my hands around Spike’s neck dragging his mouth to mine. I crush my lips against his, demanding a response.

His response is breathtaking. His mouth opens to mine, tongue exploring and challenging. In an instant he has me backed up against the wall of the stable, his body pressing deliciously into mine. There’s no fear of breaking me this time. “No holding back,” I whisper.

“Not this time, love,” he murmurs into my neck, his teeth and tongue sending shivers to the depths of my body. With a fluid shrug his leather coat falls from his shoulders to pool on the floor behind his feet. He presses the hardness of his body against mine, making me gasp.

Without thought I reach up to his shoulders, shredding the already torn t-shirt from his body. His laugh rumbles through his chest as I stare at my handiwork, and his rippled, muscular body, in mild surprise.

“Still not used to your own strength?” Spike chuckles as he negligently reaches for my jacket, pushing it from my shoulders, before tearing my shirt open, buttons pinging in all directions. The excitement and passion I feel, exposed to this man, threaten to overwhelm me. His hands cup my breasts in a gentle caress as I reach for his hips, pulling him hard against me. My mouth finds his with a sigh of pleasure, as I wrap my leg around his hips, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, all of him.

“Oh, Damn! Vampire porn! No thanks!” Gunn’s outburst makes both Spike and I jump. So caught up in our passion, we had not heard their approach.

“Oh, good, the cavalry’s arrived! Just in time to save the day,” Spike jibes in return.

“Not a moment too soon, I’d say,” rumbles Angel’s rejoinder.

“Touché!” Spike retorts, making comical swordplay actions, his pale, naked chest rippling and gleaming in the muted light of the stables, “Just ‘cos you can’t get any, mate.”

Always the exhibitionist, I sigh.

“Hello! I have a son to a vampire! I got some!”

“Okay boys. Put away the ruler and magnifying glass!” I interrupt the circus. Both men frown indignantly at the obvious slight to their manhood.

“Yes, quite,” says Wesley, his cheeks aflame, eyes darting everywhere but the open front of my blouse. I retrieve my coat from the floor and put it on, buttoning it. Wesley, can at least look at me now. “What happened here?” he questions, looking quickly from me to the werewolf lying partially decapitated at the back of stables. As we watch the beast starts to twitch, writhing on the ground. I take an involuntary step back before I realise there is no threat. With sickening, wet, popping and crunching noises the beast shrinks and morphs back into his human form.

He’s so young, I think, somewhat shocked: barely out of his teens, by his patchy, baby fluff beard. I feel sickened, for what Drusilla was doing to the poor boy, and for the crappy hand fate had dealt him. I knew firsthand what sort of a dealer fate was. Sometimes, right when it matters most, your luck can change. I hope that next time for the kid will be better.

“Drusilla’s toy boy,” Spike explains, pointing towards the boy’s naked form. Wesley’s eyebrow rises at the sexual connotation of Spike’s comment.

“Everything that brings to mind and more,” I clarify, shuddering at the imagery and sounds still seared into my memory.

“How?” asks Wesley, his interest piqued.

“Seriously, dude?” Gunn’s face crinkles in disgust at Wesley’s question. “That’s messed up!”

Wesley humphs at Gunn’s reaction to the misconstrued question, “How did she control the werewolf?” he clarifies, scowling briefly at Gunn. “They are considered base creatures, unable to be controlled, and driven purely by instincts.”

“She fed him her blood. It seemed to her allow her some control over him,” I explain.

“Very interesting,” Wesley mutters, an air of excitement building around him at this new information.

“Wesley!” Angel clicks his fingers in Wesley’s face. “Later.”

“Yes, you’re quite right.” His focus shifts back to me. Spike sidles in, slipping an arm casually around my waist. My soul sings in unison with Spike’s, both glowing with an air of contentment. The demon is peaceful, resting. I am complete.

I move closer to Spike, drawing his energy to me. The electricity between us begins to build again, my hand moving down to cup his firm butt, giving it a playful squeeze. Spike turns towards me, a playful smile tugging at his lips. I just want to devour those lips. His eyes smoulder, telling me he wants to do the same to me.

Angel clears his throat as he scrutinises the two of us. “Glad the two of you have things sorted. What happened?”

I shrug. “I just had to want it.”

Angel raises an eyebrow, “Want what exactly?”

I sigh, “I had to want to be alive and to want Spike, no exceptions. Once I made that decision the soul did the rest.” I realise my simple answer may not be enough. It raised too many other questions. I am going to have to start at the beginning.

“When I woke up in my grave, my soul and the demon were at war; neither had control. I realised, after a while, that if the demon lost the fight I was a goner. Without the demon I was dead. I could live without a soul but I couldn’t live without my demon. Not anymore. If I died that was it, my soul would float off and it would have to wait, wherever the hell souls go, for Spike to get dusted so his soul could join mine.

“Drusilla did her best to convince me to ditch my soul. She nearly succeeded too.” I squeeze Spike’s hand. Sadness washes over me at how close I had come to giving in. His reassuring squeeze in response makes my heart glow. “In the end, once I decided that I was going to live with my soul, it seemed to take over and, somehow, bound my demon and my soul to my body. So now I can’t even feel the seams.”

“And, Drusilla?” Angel queried. Ah, the question I had been dreading. My eyes trail slowly to the pile of dust at their feet, then back to Angel. A myriad of emotions flickers behind his eyes but his face gives nothing away. He nods, saying nothing.

Drusilla had been his creation, his greatest triumph and worst nightmare, depending on which side of his soul he woke up on. He had to feel something for her passing.

“Let’s go home,” Angel announces, spinning his sword in the palm of his hand. “I need a drink.”

 

 

Epilogue.

 

What is it about the garage? I wonder. Spike’s hand trails up my body, moving under my shirt to cup my breast. At his touch sparks of delight flood my body. I move backwards, pressing my curved backside into his groin. I wiggle provocatively against his arousal feeling his growing response. He groans into my neck with a little muffled chuckle against my skin. His teeth nip gently as he pinches my already hard nipple. I let out a gasp at the twin sensations.

I’ve been missing out, this vampire thing rocks! Senses and emotions are heightened, stamina is off the charts. I can’t get enough. I can’t get enough of him.

We’ve only just made it out of the car, having been for a drive, before the wanton need created by being so close yet unable to act upon it, became too much to bear. I feel like a hormone addled teenager. And I love it.

Flipping me around to face him, Spike’s tongue penetrates my mouth, exploring, demanding, craving response. Slowly his hands slide down my hips, cupping my buttocks. He gives them a squeeze. His hands sink lower, moving down between my thighs, gently, yet insistently forcing my legs apart and up.

I put my arms around his neck for support and raise my legs, clamping them around his waist. He groans, smiling as his hands meet soft warm flesh. The short denim skirt I put on this morning rides up my thighs flashing my nakedness to the world.

“No knickers, huh?”

“I was hoping you’d notice in the car,” I shrug impishly, fluttering my eyelids at him as a wicked grin spreads across my face at his look of missed opportunity.

“Right, now you’re for it,” he threatens. I stifle a squeal as he rushes me towards the bonnet of a car.

“Not the Maserati!” I beg, seeing the gleam in his eye. I felt bad enough after the broken door and joyride incident, without adding to the damage bill.

“Alright,” Spike relents. Well that was a little too easy, I think, wondering what that calculating mind is up to. Before I can worry about it further my body slams into the boot of a car with enough force the boot lid is caved in.

It is still a thing of wonder to me, these vampire traits. An impact of that magnitude would have left my human body breathless, bruised, and possibly even sporting a cracked rib or two. As it is I feel little from the impact. There was a small amount of discomfort that passed almost before I had time to register its existence. Our bodies’ ability to assimilate pain and emotions, largely due to the strengths of the demon, I surmise, is a constant source of fascination.

Spike’s tongue, his hands and his body soon whip any semblance of thought, beyond the immediate, from my mind, and I give myself over to him willingly.

Using my vampire strength to its fullest advantage, I brace my feet on the boot of the car, grab Spike’s coat collar and pull with all my might, twisting as I go. Spike’s body hits the vehicle a lot harder than I am expecting. The rear windshield cracks in several places as the entire rear structure of the car is bent out of shape. I stare, horrified, at my handiwork. Spike begins to laugh. It’s a rumble, so sexy, from deep in chest. He looks up at me from where I now kneel next to him. He reaches up, pulling me down onto his body in a tight bearhug. “You’re stronger than you look, you little minx. Have I told you recently how much I love you?”

His words and the feel of his body beneath mine instantly reignite the feelings forgotten only a few seconds before. Quickly, I move my leg over his hips, straddling him, pinning him to the car. Now I have you where I want you, for a change, I think, mischievously.

With slow deliberate movements, I feed the fire of passion, left simmering until now. With kisses and caresses I mold his body to my will, until he shudders and bucks under me, driven to the brink but not allowed release. With trembling hands I undo his fly, freeing him from the confines of his jeans. I straddle him and lower myself onto his girth. Spike grasps my hips, groaning in pleasure, pulling me down on him, forcing more of him inside. Slowly at first, building momentum, I rock forward on his hips, moving his length inside me. A gasp escapes my lips and my eyelids flutter as the pressure inside me mounts.

“Yes, baby,” Spike whispers, rocking me harder and faster, thrusting upwards with each forward motion of my hips. Crying out I thunder over the precipice, my world exploding into lights and sounds and the glorious rush in my ears as my body convulses in ecstasy.

As my waves subside, I feel Spike’s climax building under me, within me. I watch him arch his back, writhing and convulsing with the intensity of the climb. His face contorts in exquisite frenzy, taking on the visage of the demon. He cries out, tensing in his orgasm beneath me. He holds me, pulsing deep inside me, before gathering me into his arms with a quiet, blissful chuckle.

“That look on your face, love,” he croons softly, “when you’re just about to come, I could watch it for hours.” His voice reverberates through his chest, vibrating in my head as I rest my ear over his heart.

“Ditto,” I murmur, my voice a contented slur.

“Oi! You two!” The shout has us sitting bolt upright, sliding off the mangled vehicle and quickly pulling our clothing straight. Two security guards run towards us, electrified bludgeons in hand.

“Time to go,” warns spike as he grabs my hand and we make a dash for the exit stairs. “Nice of them to let us finish.” He adds as an afterthought.

I spot the domed black bauble of a security camera on the ceiling nearby and nod towards it, “Do you think they enjoyed the show?”

Spike grins in answer. “I know I did. Come on.” We rush up the stairs faster than the human guards in our wake and quickly lose them in the labyrinth of hallways and wings that make up the Wolfram & Hart complex. It won’t take them long to track us down, not with their state of the art security and surveillance system.

Spike and I wait at the end of a long corridor. He pops his head around the corner to check if the coast is clear. His body is pressed against mine, pinning me to the wall. The feel of him is distracting to say the least and I can’t resist planting a string of kisses from the hollow of his throat to his ear. He rumbles softly deep in his chest, “You’re going to get me into serious trouble, little minx.”

The air within the hallway vibrates as a very loud and incredibly incensed bellow echoes off the walls. “Spiiike!!!”

“Oh, Shit!” I squeak, looking at Spike.

His forehead drops to mine as he places a finger against my lips. A barely stifled laugh comes out as a “ssshhh, sshh, ssshhhhh,” sound from lips pressed hard against the finger held to mine.

“Spike! What have you done to my Jag?” the raging bellow resounds through the hallway. Angel is irate.

“Time for us to go, little minx,” Spike whispers as he leads me hurriedly in the opposite direction to the one Angel’s voice is coming from.

“Go where?” I query.

“Anywhere you want to go, pet.”

“What will we do?” The idea of making my way in the world, especially as a fledgling vampire is incredibly daunting. I have no clue where to start, or what it even means to be a vampire with a soul.

“What all vampires with a soul do: We’re going to save the world.

“There’s never been anything like us before; vampire twin flames. The world won’t know what hit it!” Spike laughs.

We run. Run together into the night. Together we can face anything. We can stop the world from ending, together.


End file.
